Trinity
by juliasejanus
Summary: Alex Rider/Marvel Cinematic Universe AU In 2005, Alex Rider disappeared. In 2012, Steve Rogers was found alive. In 2014, the Winter Soldier breaks his conditioning. After the fall of the SHIELD, the information dump reveals there was another super-soldier was in cryofreeze.
1. Chapter 1

ACT 1: REBIRTH

...

June 11th 1944

The Enhanced Medical Experiment Unit had been based the Infectious Diseases Hospital at Roundway Down, Wiltshire. All civilian staff and patients had left, when the isolated wooden huts and central laboratory had been requisitioned by the War Department in 1942. All that was left of the Unit was now a crater filled with a soldering pile of rubble, twisted metal and ash. Only the wire fence and checkpoints survived the blast from a direct hit from the Hydra 'super weapon'. All evidence of Project Ophion had been wiped from the face of the earth. The volunteers and medical personnel had lived under strict quarantine conditions here. All were now dead as nothing could have survived that blast. All samples of the serum and the research notes were lost.

Captain Charles Morris of the Military Intelligence had interviewed the six guards from his regiment who had survived. He had nothing to report to his superiors in Whitehall except that there was now no chance of a British super soldier joining Captain America to ensure an allied victory. By dusk, all military personnel had been reassigned. No one was on site to witness a sole survivor digging himself from the rubble.

Twenty-four year old Sergeant Jack Rider of the Rifles had been born lucky, His mother had died of influenza moments after his birth. A miracle baby who had grown up to enlist in 1939, after a series of dead end jobs. A natural sniper, whose unit had all died during the siege of Tobruk, he had been lucky to survive after being badly burned. His scars just cause for his fiancee to turn tail and run off with a Polish airman. With only a life as a cripple awaiting him back home, he volunteered from his hospital bed as the medical team had spoken doing his duty as a control subject in a secret project to beat the Nazi Science division, Hydra.

The test subjects at the hospital were kept in the dark, with no outside communications and all already listed as missing in action. The third cycle of serum had been administered to his control group the previous day. The others died within minutes and for hours he had lain in agony, as fever burned, and violent convulsions left him bloody and bruised. He'd been put in the basement designated as the morgue as the doctors had assumed he was a goner with only hours till he breathed his last. He had woken naked under a sheet, stuck under a broken slab of concrete with two other corpses keeping him company.

The tall dark haired man was grey with dust as he lay in the moonlight gasping as clean air filled his lungs. He woke again at dawn to the cold, sting of heavy summer rain baptising him. The water washed way the grime, he stood on shaky feet and started to walk to civilisation. Reborn and ten miles from the nearest village, with no papers, no money and no clothes. He did not dwell on the fact he could walk without pain for the first time in over a year. That there were no scars or wounds from the air raid that had buried him. It was a miracle that all the hurt and pain was gone.

He was no stranger to 'borrowing' what he needed on occasion, he soon had clothes, boots and a bike. The nearest town was Reading, where he could beg, borrow or steal an identity card and some cash and get the train home. He still wondered on the miracle of his reflection this morning. His skin unblemished, the prickle of stubble on his face and scalp, where there had been lumpy scarred flesh before. Jack Rider had hated the needles and the silence from the boffins. He had done his duty, to hell with secrets and the army. He had only been buried but a few inches of rubble, but there had been no attempt to look for survivors.

Jack Rider was going to live every day from now on like it was his last. In Manchester, he would get an old friend to forge identity papers, as he could clearly remember all the details of his old one. He'd do alright working the black market, keep clear of official channels, lest they arrest him for being AWOL.


	2. Chapter 2

April 2012

Everything seemed different from his old life, even the familiar was subtly different. He still can't quite believe the fact he had been frozen for decades. Coming back to New York was meant to be returning to his home, but it isn't, not this version of New York. After his unauthorised visit to Times Square, Steve Roger's life at SHIELD had settled into a routine of tests, physical training, doctors and education classes. Like Colonel Philips had threatened in 1942, Steve Rogers was a lab rat, an experiment living under a microscope. He wished he was back being a chorus girl. He did not complain, as he was housed in 'guest accommodation', which consisted of a small room with the luxury of an adjoining bathroom, about a million times better than his digs back in the 40's. He knows he's under surveillance 24/7, but the agents here only know the propaganda version of Captain America, the War Hero, not the real Steve Rogers. Life as a performing monkey had taught him public speaking, daily movement, choreography and dance practice (which was a secret he had not even told Bucky), acting and how to fool everyone that a skinny kid from Brooklyn was an American hero. Captain America was a mask, a performance and something Steve choose to hide behind as Fury wanted something from Steve and he hoped to God it wasn't to restart Project Rebirth.

His Captain America facade was no different, he had just added his approximation of Bucky's easy charm and wide, ain't-I-great-smile. He had to be on his game here, cause all they wanted was the Cap. No one now knew anything about the skinny kid from Brooklyn, who Erskine had selected as guinea pig, mainly because he was everything Schmidt wasn't.

Raised by his strict Catholic mother to be respectful to all and grateful for his lot in life. Before the Army he had first hand experience of illness, poverty and hunger. His mother had aways worked hard to provide for her only child. Steve had always had a second, sometimes third hand winter coat and decent shoes. The Roger's family home may have been a two room tenement, but there had been meals on the table twice a day; many during the late twenties and thirties had not been that lucky. Food had sometimes only been the staples of bread, potatoes and oatmeal.

Steve was always attentive, observant and polite to his handlers, but the whole fake hospital scene when he woke up still had him on edge. He was having a hard time trusting these SHIELD folks and could not bring himself to be grateful for his miracle survival at the moment. He had nothing to grab on to and anchor himself to his new life. Rather than sleeping, he lay down at night in the dark and lost himself in memories of those hard days before the war, after his Ma had passed. He had worked two jobs to afford his art classes and materials and for his share of the rent for a one room apartment with Bucky. Sleep never came. He was not worried, he had not slept much since the procedure, needing cat naps of one to three hours at most and not everyday; a real boon when planning operations and fighting on the front lines. He had gotten used to only sleeping deeply when back at base, like most soldiers.

After a week in Twenty-first century New York, Captain Rogers had lessons on modern communications, covering computers, operating systems and access to the internet as an educational resource. He's damn sure they'd keep close tabs on what he's allowed to read. In curiosity and creeping dread, he looks up his old neighbourhood. His childhood home, his old apartment block, the places he worked; where his old high school, the dance hall, the local cinemas, the neighbourhood deli and familiar shops are all gone. His church, St. Finbar's and the sunday school, are still there, just different. Then he then notices that Ebbet's Field has gone, which leads him to discover the whole sordid details about the Brooklyn Dodgers moving to the West Coat.

Bucky had been a die hard fan like his pa, a passion he had shared with his best friend. Money was always been tight, but the two boys had collected enough bottles, scrap metal and done enough odd jobs to go sit on the bleachers as true fans. The ball game, even when the Dodgers lost, had been better than any movie or radio show. The Dodgers now played in LA. He frowned as he could not muster many happy memories of his short time working 20 hour days making movies on the lot in sunny California. That place had been lonely, exhausting and bleak.

Life had taught him to perfect an emotionless poker face as a kid, to deflect all the hurtful comments from just about everyone, except his Ma and Bucky, as he squashed down the hurt for being a sickly, deformed and useless runt.

Steve's heart clenched and he had to suppress the urge to smash the laptop and trash his room. This brave new world, this bright future built after victory, tasted of ash and crushing of his dreams of a better life after the war. No Peggy, with the promise of a picture perfect future of marriage, kids and happiness after the defeat of the Nazi's. The constant weight of his fresh grief for all his friends turned into an acute and overwhelming pain. The tightening of his chest reminded him of his asthma and he closed his eyes and took slow deep breaths, which seemed to make his attempt at controlling his emotions slip through his grasp. Anger, hate and bitterness welled up, but this hardened soldier stepped himself with the resolve, he had woken for a reason. He could not take anything or anyone at face value. He had to hold to his promise to Abraham Erskine and first and foremost remain a good man.


	3. Chapter 3

15th April 2014

The Winter Soldier's conditioning as the perfect weapon had been broken completely, as the dam holding back a lifetime of memories shattered. At that precise moment, Bucky watched in horror as his saviour plunged into the Potomac along with several tones of debris from the crashing hellicarrier. On autopilot he dived into the water and pulled his critically injured and unconscious, best friend from the water. The name James Buchanan Barnes drifted around his head and felt so right he could cry. First and foremost he needed to check that the casualty was breathing and stable. The area was not clear as he could sense the near by spectators to the collapse of the Triskelion and spectacular crash of the three Insight Hellicarriers. Help would be swift arriving as sirens of emergency vehicles screamed closer. It was the cue for the assassin to melt into the shadows.

After stealing a car, Barnes made his way to an equipment drop. It was a huge risk, but the whole of the DC area was. Most locally based Hydra agents had gone down with SHIELD headquarters. Nether the less, He scouted the area thoroughly, making sure there were no handlers or members of the STRIKE team waiting to re-acquire their Asset. The stash included a wad of money, three changes of clothes, two fake ID's and a small arsenal of replacement weapons, all were stowed in a rucksack were removed, as he made his way to a place of safety. A location picked at random, with good escape routes to three major roads and with no technicians, no pain, no wipes or any chance of being put back on ice.

In the motel room, he vomited into the toilet bowl and shivered as he processed the shattered fragments from the horror of his conditioning as well as all knowledge of his use as the Puppet of Armin Zola and Alexander Pearce. He was too exhausted to weep as he recalled better times from his childhood, life as mechanic, docker, labourer and the miriad of other thankless jobs he'd done for a pittance before the war, as a sniper with the 107th Infantry. Steve was a beacon of hope and happiness through everything. Years of wipes had become undone as he one again became James Barnes; his mind freed all as a result of Steven Grant Roger's pig headed refusal to give up on his childhood friend. The man crawled to the shower and sat under the lukewarm spray to wash away the pungent smell of the river water, stale body odour, piss and puke. Later, as he lay on the bed, he took sips of bottled water to rehydrate. As the night passed, Barnes planned two excursions for the next day; to visit the exhibition of Captain America he had seen advertised on billboards and to burn the Bank vault where he had been kept by Pearce to the ground. Steve was real, but it was the only sure thing he had to hold on to at this moment. His friend had given him choice to be his own master.

He strolled through the patriotic exhibit and he looked blankly at photographs and films of Captain America and the Howling Commandos. James Buchanan Barnes could remember the taste the cookies baked by Steve's mom, feel the weight and the familiarity of the rifle designed by Howard Stark and the smell of Peggy Carter's French perfume. He could also remember that Dum Dum had snored something awful. He read all the details of Project Rebirth and the strange miracle of Dr, Erskine's serum. That even after the procedure, Steve had not really changed from the scrappy kid from Brooklyn with a big heart and no time for bullies. Bucky had recalled his friend making a fool of himself in front of the beautiful and terrifying Agent Carter. He could empathise as Steve had also had his life stolen from him. Those bombs had been destined for New York, and it had been just like Steve to make sure a plane loaded with certain death for thousands was ditched into the Arctic, not caring for his own safety.

Then again, Steve had already confessed to his best friend his fear of again becoming nothing more than a lab rat in peace time, when the perfect soldier and the dancing monkey were no longer needed.

The soldier had relocated to another dingy motel. The news channels had speculated that an unknown agent had rescued Captain America from the Potomac and showed grainy and blurred footage from a phone camera. As much as he wanted to stay and watch over Steve, who was still in danger from the rapidly regrouping remnants of Hydra. He was a realist and knew Steve had capable friends and was no slouch at picking his own fights. Fights that kid could now win, no problem. Barnes knew he could not return to a life in Brooklyn, as that had possibility been stolen from him by time and captivity. He was aware his best friend would try to follow him wherever he went. However, the Winter Soldier had unfinished business with his former captors.

For years, before and after every mission, his handlers, the doctors and technicians had treated their pet assassin as part of the furniture. Letting him overhear information on bank transfers, bases, operations, sympathisers and agents. As an accomplished and decorated soldier with the 107th, the former sergeant planned his next moves with the precision of a chess master. He would strip hidden funds, to establish his own drops and safe houses and maybe some contacts with free agents. With money, he could become an instrument of vengeance and make sure HYDRA continued to reap what the had sown.

James Buchanan Barnes emerged from the wreckage of the warehouse in Baltimore with enough money, documents and information to help another lost soul. The kid HYDRA had kidnapped to be the backup to their asset. A teenager who was another victim of conditioning and torture to form a perfect assassin, robbed of conscience and identity. The other asset in training was currently frozen in a small Hydra facility in the Serbia. Barnes needed to seek redemption and try to start to mop up the red in his ledger. It was not the path of mindless revenge. Steve had broken his conditioning after seventy years. There was hope for the backup to escape Hydra as he had.


	4. Chapter 4

11th May 2014

His whole existence was a void. His mind-scape uncluttered by memories, thoughts or feelings. The nothingness was beautiful and all-encompassing. He tried to grasp on to anything, but could not recall any sense of self, no past; everything came up blank. He had the inkling what he was missing was important, somehow wrong to be missing. He was then aware that someone was screaming themselves hoarse. The sound was hopeless and seemed to echo in a small space. The man was glad when the darkness became silent once more.

…..

The agony of extreme pins and needles rolled across his entire body, which then intensified to combine with crippling muscle cramps as he woke. He became aware of a small amount of warmth seeping into the his cold, jerking limbs and that he was naked lying in a large bath tub of lukewarm water. He could not help but whimper as his teeth started to chatter uncontrollably and as his body was wracked with violent shivers. Heavy limbs bashing against the confines of the metal bath, resulting in water slopping onto the floor. He opened his eyes to observe a tall dark haired stranger adding a precise amount of warm water to the bath. Raising the ambient temperature slowly, but the water was still not warm enough to chase away the fact he was freezing cold.

The stranger was handsome with blue eyes and had a metal left hand. The mechanical prosthetic drew his full attention, it was really something, which seemed to flex and work with a full range of movement. The man smiled and stroked the hair out of the bather's eyes and the spoke in Russian, "Hello, Aleksandr. I am James. You are almost thawed from cryofeeeze. Another half an hour and you can get out of the bath. Rest, until then. Go back to sleep."

The man in the bath could only nod his head slightly, not having the energy to talk or move more than that, relaxing into the knowledge that his name was Aleksandr.

His slumber was cut short when his strange nurse lifted him out of the bath with surprising ease. The sopping wet invalid could not coordinate his limbs and was a floppy doll as he was dried and dressed in warm, loose clothes comprising track suit bottoms, sweatshirt, hat and socks. The weak and tired man lay in a narrow bed and was covered over with several blankets. James then spoke of his medical treatment. "I will now put in a drip and a feeding tube". With that the man busied himself inserting a cannula into his patient's left arm and tipped the unresisting patient's head back to insert a feeding tube.

The man showed Alex the plastic feeding tube. "Swallow as a put the tube in your nose. It will stop you gagging."

The man in the bed relaxed, glad after the procedure was over. Tried and exhausted; he closed his eyes and murmured "Yasha?"

"No, Aleksandr, my name is James." The man had a smile but his eyes were sad. He stroked the kid's cheek, after taping the tube in place. James then murmured "You are such a good kid."

The man in the bed frowned, as he could not think why he had called James, Yasha. Who was Yasha? It was confusing. The only facts were that he spoke and understood Russian well, but knew he was not a native. For the life of him he could not recall where he hailed from. He also knew James was not a russian name, but the dark haired man spoke Russian fluently, with a guttural inflections of a native.

"Relax Aleksandr, try not to think too much. You will start to remember soon enough. Tomorrow, you can eat real food and start exercising. Then you will feel much better." Barnes knew that with increased energy and movement, the kid's brain would start to heal the extensive brain damage from the machine. The whole recovery was going to have to be by ear, Barnes only had his own experience to draw from and he was not a medical professional or psychologist. He had been unfrozen for several weeks before he had started to become erratic and then only after he had been confronted by the only person alive whom he had strong emotional ties to.

The dark haired man sat and drank a large mug of coffee and reviewed the files he had recovered regarding the backup Asset. The kid's file showed he had no close friends or any family at the time HYDRA acquired him. The kid had washed out of three high schools in California, but had graduated early with excellent grades. His school record from London was no better, showing long periods absent, disruptive behaviour and being isolated by his peers. There was one foster placement on file, but the kid had walked out on his eighteenth birthday and not returned for any visits or holidays. The foster father had written a book about his foster son after his disappearance. Edward Pleasure seemed to be the only person who had missed this kid or wanted him to get in contact.

The journalist's book outlined MI6's use of the teenager in unauthorised operations in 2001 and 2002. Only, there were several important facts missing from the book. HYDRA had know Alex's father and uncle had been the sons of a survivor of Project Ophion. The effects of the British version of the serum had been passed down genetically from their father and both men had enhanced capabilities and appeared to be perfect operatives. HYDRA had liquidated both men as threats.

Analysis of the actions of Ian Rider, suggested he had been attempting to recreate the KGB's Red Room, to program his nephew to be a weapon. The blood chemistry from the kid had proved the British serum had been effective. The doctor's had been quite disappointed to discover cryo-freeze rendered the subjects infertile. None of the files suggested any attempts to procreate from the kid. Too much hassle keeping two super soldiers erased and prepped for missions and the Red Room had proved to have limited success. Barnes now knew that HYDRA had no intensions of capturing him or using the backup. Termination orders had been issued. His decision to rescue the kid had been the right one. They had already cut the power supply to the chamber and had left the kid to wake up in a sealed unit to die a slow and painful death.

He checked on the sleeping teenager. Tomorrow he would find out if the kid could remember anything and to get the kid acclimatised to his new post-HYDRA existence. How the hell was he going to break it to the kid it was 2014 and that he'd been frozen for nine years?

…

The kid was starring at his breakfast. It looked lumpy. Obviously cooking was not one of James' skills. He had to admit he was hungry and glad to have had the feeding tube removed.

"Eat you're oatmeal, its getting cold." James encouraged. The simple breakfast was the best thing available not to encourage vomiting after a period without solid food.

With the tiniest amount on his spoon, the blond teenager put the objectionable foodstuff in his mouth. Considering it looked awful it tasted wonderful. The next spoonful was about a third of the bowl as once.

"Whoa, slow down there, kid. Eat all that in one go and you'll be puking it all back up again in no time. Small spoonfuls, OK?"

"Yessir." Too soon, Alex was licking the base of his bowl, wanting more. He put the bowl down and watched as James then cleared the table and washed the pan and bowls. "OK, so its time to exercise now?"

"Yeah, yoga first. Do you remember why you called me Yasha last night?"

The kid frowned, as he could recall all his interactions since waking, but who this Yasha was drawing a blank. "No, but you haven't told me my full name nor yours."

"Well, I'm James Buchanan Barnes and you are Alexander John Rider." Barnes hoped that the kid's full name would jog some memories.

"Well, that sounds right." It felt good to know that was who he was, because it did not feel like a lie. Running the name through his head, he knew he had repeated it like a prayer, like that knowledge had been the only thing to hold on to. Only it hadn't been Alexander, something shorter… Alexei?…. Xander?….Sasha?… Alex. "Call me Alex, James."

Barnes did not push for Alex for more, knowing it would take time for memories to return but that he had remembered his preferred name was a good start. It would be good to talk about his past with his new friend. "My best friend when I grew up was a skinny runt called Steve. Sassy little punk gave me the nickname Bucky. You can call me James or Barnes."

Alex looked at the guy who was a number one badass MF, and quipped "Yeah, somehow you don't look like a Bucky."


	5. Chapter 5

Steve had spent the last thirty minutes staring at the two back pages in his sketch book, on which he had recorded the movements and known sightings of the Winter soldier in the last two months. The trail appeared to have gone cold, when a week ago a HYDRA base in Serbia had been raided, in an attack which bore all the hallmarks of the Winter Soldier's meticulous liquidation of all on site personnel and the complete destruction of all equipment relating to his former handling, programming and storage. Why go to Serbia? When all available intel had stated the base had been inactive since the Asset had been transferred to the US by Pearce in 2007.

There was still dozens of active HYDRA units in the US alone. Steve had made the heartbreaking decision to carry on moping up operations, using intel from the SHIELD download of classified files. Steve rationalised the need to hit hard and quickly while their enemy was on the run. Only now he was running out of steam. He was bone weary. This road was hard and bleak, darkened by Bucky's choice to run from him.

Seven weeks on the road, raids on five bases and no contact with Bucky except following his trail of destruction. His best friend had systematically wiped all bases used by the Asset off the map. Steve knew he should sleep, but going over possible targets while Sam slept was close enough to rest. Seven weeks when the two of them had been completely off the grid after leaving Washington. Steve still picked up his emails occasionally, to check in with Natasha. She had reassured him that she had holed up with Clint somewhere safe, rebuilding her life.

The data about Serbia had come from her and had shown his intelligence gathering skills were way off the mark. The natural conclusion was that it was time to throw in the towel and stop pulling on that thread as Natasha had suggested, only Steve couldn't. This was no longer a search and rescue mission, Bucky had proved he was working to his own agenda making sure HYDRA could never wipe or freeze their Asset again.

Those aims were truly laudable as HYDRA needed to be consigned to the seventh level of hell, with every tendril decapitated and then cauterised to ensure it stayed dead. Only he and Sam did not have either the funds nor the resources for such a task. They had only managed so far because Bucky had left funds and surplus equipment as drops for them to use. The sniper using the same markers as used by the the Howling Commandos and SSR back in the good old days, a fact that comforted Steve that it really was Bucky that they were following not an empty shell.

Steve and Sam were not alone in their quest to destroy HYDRA. There were remnants of SHIELD moping up, under the directorship of the resurrected Phil Coulson. Reading the files on project TAHITI had made the super-soldier wonder, how often Fury had played god, when the dead no longer remained dead.

The exSHIELD operative looked at his watch, it was 10:05AM and Sam had only been asleep for three hours. The tall blond haired insomniac pulled on his coat and his hat, and left a short note for his long suffering friend, "gone to confession at Sacred Heart off Main Street", just in case Sam woke up. Despite his image of a squeaky clean, bible bashing Boy Scout, Steve had stopped attending mass after the death of his mother. Grief had dampened his devotion but not his underlying faith. SHIELD's actions since his defrosting had shaken his faith more than hunger, hopelessness and poor health ever had.

He had revisited his parish church in Brooklyn once, two days after his moving into his first apartment in the 21st century. The Priest had not been sympathetic to a grieving, veteran unsure of his homecoming and had told him to visit the local VA in a dismissive tone. Something he had not done until meeting Sam, two years later.

The walk in the mid morning air was refreshing, the day not too warm with a pleasant breeze. The church was not as grand as St. Finbar's in Brooklyn Heights. He entered to observe the priest and two volunteers work on a display of colourful art showing the apostles speaking in tongues. There was little chance of being recognised as Captain America as Steve had stopped shaving and now sported a beard, which he kept trimmed with his Swiss Army knife, and had not been to the barbers in nearly two months, so his hair was down to his collar. He was also wearing cheap off the shelf clothes from Wallmart and Army Surplus jacket, as the contents of his apartment had gotten trashed by SHIELD during his brief time as a wanted fugitive. He doubted even Natasha would recognise him today.

He remembered the lessons from his mother on following the True Path of kindness, charity and forgiveness. Steve could not forgive the evil suffered by Bucky. The file procured by Natasha had outlined the systematic cruelty needed to break and mold James Buchanan Barnes into HYDRA's weapon. All Steve could see was the shadow of that evil and it was tainting him. He had also been forged into a weapon by SHIELD and had become hard and relentless. He could not turn the other cheek. Would his mother or Abraham Erskine recognise him now? Was he still a good man? He only had Sam's reassurances that he was fighting the good fight. The heaviness of that grief was still there, along with the sharp pang of guilt and regret as he had left his best friend to a fate worse than death.

He had not realised he was weeping, until the priest had approached to ask, "Are you alright, son?"

The star spangled man with a plan smiled to himself before sitting up, he honestly just wanted a hour or so for silent contemplation. "Honestly, no and I can't think of a way to make anything right again. I'm just here to take a moment and try to get some perspective on the nightmare that my life has become. Being in the Army was a cakewalk compared to life here and now." The interruption had closed the lid on the Captain's momentary lapse in giving free reign to his emotional turmoil. "It's been years since I attended mass or went to confession. My mother was very pious; kind, compassionate, hard working and always helping out. She died a long slow painful death and the priest at her funeral was drunk and got her name wrong. Yeah, he was human, I know, but I ain't no saint like my mother. Just an angry young man. Life has continued to be a series of hard knocks. I came here for a bit of peace not to take up any of your time. This ain't my parish and my woes are for me to shoulder. Wondering on God's plan has me often wondering on my path, I just try to be a good man. Sometimes that ain't enough."

The priest took a long hard look at the ex-serviceman, whom he was damn sure needed a life line. " If you need me I'm here all afternoon."

"Thanks for your concern." Steve watched the sunlight illuminate the stained glass windows as the colours and shadows moved and shifted on the aisle and walls. He needed to rest. If he was still working for SHIELD, he'd be grounded for psychological assessment. He was depressed, not eating, not sleeping and would be drinking like a fish, only it did not dull his senses. He closed his eyes and could still remember the smell of the snaps poured out by Abraham Erskine on the night before he died. He was a mess after trying so hard to be a good man. He had to carry on to be there when Bucky needed him. He was only hurting himself. Time to get with the program and stop being a useless punk.


	6. Chapter 6

The young blond man was stood naked in the bathroom after a shower. He studied his reflection in the only mirror in the house, which was cracked and dirty. He had not shaved, and had a decent beard with thinner moustache, slightly darker than his hair. The facial hair was strange, so he could assume he had never grown a beard before, which was not surprising as he looked young. If he had to guess he was in his late teens. He was tall, a bit on the thin side, but with strong core musculature and flexibility. He had mid brown eyes, a strong straight nose, chiselled cheek bones but he could not recall if he took after his parents, grandparents or siblings. He was almost sure that he was an only child and an orphan.

As he dressed, Alex wondered on his current situation, living in an isolated farmhouse with a mysterious carer, who was not related to him; but was meticulously helping him cope with amnesia after an unspecified bad experience. The fact was Alex knew he had never gotten ill. That was one fact that was certain even though he had yet to recover any meaningful memories of his childhood or teenage years. He had brief, fleeting flashbacks of gut churning agony, absolute horror and the faces of his tormentors. He concluded he had suffered extreme trauma to induce his memory loss, not one but cumulative events. As he had no other point of reference, he watched James. The guy was his current obsession. Alex went over all interactions looking for clues. The dark haired man with the metal arm always knew when to hold him when his terrors took him and when to leave him to brood and sulk. James spoke sparingly of his own recovery at these times, reassuring Alex that he was getting there. The recovering invalid could only conclude that James Barnes was also a recovering amnesiac, one who also had night terrors.

Life was a routine, as James stated routine helped with recovery. Mornings were Alex's favourite time of day, as he could honestly say breakfast was his favourite meal. He now cooked the four meals the pair shared each day. It turned out he knew his way around a kitchen. Recipes came to him while looking at the various items in the refrigerator, freezer and the store cupboard. They both ate a lot. Alex was hungry within minutes of eating. The pair also exercised a lot as well. Not just for general fitness and wellbeing, but for flexibility, strength and stamina. They spared daily, hand to hand and with practice knives. It was all easy and natural. Each movement a reflex, a known response. James was surprised by his abilities. Alex could surmise they had not trained together previously.

Then came the hard fact of cryofreeze. It was like the boogyman to Alex. The mere thought of freezing struct terror into him. It was a block he could not get past. His memories were trapped behind that horror.

…

"Why do we share a bed?" Alex asked, puzzled by the simple fact that there were three bedrooms, but the pair stayed in the master bedroom together.

"Warmth and comfort. Helps keep night terrors away for both of us."

Alex watched as James paused and was lost in thought; obviously drawn into part of his own shattered past. "I spent most of my childhood sharing my bed with my best friend, Stevie. He got ill a lot, was a small and frail kid, permanently cold. Living conditions weren't great in our tenement. Stevie's mom worked nights, mostly. My mom was best friends with Sarah Rogers, so Stevie stayed with us on those nights. We were as close as twins. Had to be in a two bedroomed apartment. A room we also shared with my sister Becca."

James accent was unmistakably american. Alex could guess at his home city, "Was that in New York?"

"Brooklyn."

There was another fact to add to the list. Was Alex American as well? He knew better than to ask direct questions as James would not answer. Better he remembered on his own, at his own pace. That way Alex would be able to recognise real from implanted memories. Whatever had happened before he had been put on ice had been bad and his brain had been seriously messed about with.

…

The dream was not a dream, a nightmare fuelled from a real experience a memory of the utter vileness that he had lived through. He could hear James talking calmly and softly in russian, a litany of Alex's name, their location, the fact they were safe and there was only James here. Alex could smell the sharp tang of vomit. His throat was sore, but he could not recall that he had been screaming. The cool touch of the metal hand was rubbing circles on his bare back. The metal appendage was unique to James Barnes, this was real, he was real. There were no tormentors. Alex let out a huge sob and his wail of hurt and grief was hoarse. He had survived brutality, humiliation and casually inflicted horror. He was being hugged by James and that centred him. This man was his world. In a broken whisper Alex asked a direct question "They did that to you too?"

"Talk about what they did and I'll confirm it. You need to talk and then deal with your experiences or you'll go mad. Really, we both should be seeing a bunch of shrinks, but PTSD is a fact we both have to live with." James then loosened the hug. "Go have a shower, I'll clean up the bed and put the kettle on. We can compare our memories over tea and several dozen cookies."

The tea flowed that day. Black loose leaf tea, strongly brewed on the stove and served blisteringly hot and shockingly sweet. Two men talked of being sleep deprived, starved, deprived of water, beaten, being given the hope of escape only to be dragged back to be tortured, raped and humiliated over and over again.

Alex traced the lines of the metal plates on James left arm and smiled. "So you came and got me out. You saved me."

"Like Stevie saved me."

Alex was suddenly sharply jealous of James' BFF; but the decided to throw caution to the wind. He only had James, even if this was only a temporary arrangement, he had nothing to loose by confessing his emotional attachment. "I love you, James."

James Barnes smiled "I love you too, kiddo."

With a direct and unflinching stare, the blond man gripped the dark haired man's hand. "No, I really love you. More than brothers…. I…. I want you too."

James looked at Alex and could see a reflection of himself, a man broken by life and being held together with nothing more than newspaper and string. Above all the recovering victim of Armin Zola's grand plan wished with all his heart for Steve to be here; as his big hearted, sensible best friend would know exactly the right way to handle the fact this messed up kid, who had become fixated on his rescuer. James Buchanan Barnes was the worst person in the world to consider an ally, never mind friend or lover. Only Alex was quite right to surmise that they were already emotionally compromised and taking the next step was a logical one. "Look, you are on the road to recovery, but you, well we both have, a way to go yet. I'm not in any position to get involved… not that I'm rejecting you or anything… its just I haven't been a 'person' for such a long time. I don't trust myself. Just so you know, my track record before HYDRA was that I put myself about and was a bit of a ladies man; but don't let that fool you 'cause I loved Stevie and never had the guts to tell him. You and I are a good match, its just I'm not ready for sex just yet."

Alex sat back, but did not break eye contact. "Yeah, we are a matching pair of ex-brainwashed, recently defrosted, trained killers, without full cognitive recall. HYDRA really did a number on us. I'm OK with the status quo and I'm not pushing for anything more. Its just you're a handsome guy and I'm a horny teenager.. and well, plus the fact its just us two, here." Alex then frowned and shivered. "I think you'd be the only person I'd even consider being intimate with after… them." With a deep breath he closed his eyes and rubbed his eyes. No one could ever mistake James for anyone but James, not with that amazing metal cybernetic arm. "Right, my diversionary tactics of jumping into bed and fucking rather than deal with all the facts I'm still missing has not worked; so now the hard questions. This place is a timeless bubble. No TV, no radio, no computers, no phones and no internet, not that I can find and I have looked. I get that's intentional due to my amnesia. What are you protecting me from? I'm worrying that we are the only two humans left alive?"

"No, the human race is doing just fine. Our isolation was intentional so no one can disturb us, while you recovered. So, what precisely do you remember?" James had been very careful not to derail Alex's recovery with too much information too fast.

"I remember my conditioning, but only fragments of anything before. I know who I am, Alexander John Rider, born in London on the 13th February 1987. I know that my parents are dead and that I never knew them. I guess I'm about nineteen. That's taking into account I was eighteen when HYDRA abducted me. I'm guessing they snatched me because I can't imagine willingly signing up for the whole becoming nothing but a weapon thing. However, my concept of time gets a bit hazy after that, months not weeks. I forgot my name, who I was. They wiped me clean. So, I guess it must be May or June in 2006, based on the assumption I was only frozen for a short amount of time."

James had always been subconsciously aware of loosing years in cryofreeze and being woken for training and assignments over decades before he escaped from HYDRA's control. Alex had never been utilised as an asset, only kept as a backup; as the Winter Soldier had remained operational and fully functional. Now was the crunch time to reintroduce Alex to the future and his stolen years. "Its time to pack up and for us to rejoin the real world. We'll get a newspaper at our new digs, which has a TV and all moderns conveniences."

…

Alex lay on the bed of the small apartment in Zagreb. James had left him to process everything that had happened while he had been on ice. He had yet to process the fact it really was 2014, even with the proof of five international newspapers and watching CNN on the TV. He had missed not one but two alien invasions, the fall of SHIELD and the fact he was 27, not 19. Not that any of that mattered because he still could not remember any friends or there was anyone to miss him. His mind was a jumble of images, snippets of conversations, tastes, smells and disturbing emotions. He could see Yasha in his minds eye, the man's uneasy mix of violence and beauty. Had they been lover's? Was he a killer? Were they both killers? Yasha had been. He could hear him say "I've killed lots of people" as a plain bit of unadorned truth. Alexander Rider had been close to a genuine psychopath.

Without context he could make up a million awful scenarios, where HYDRA's wiping of Alex Rider's personality was entirely justified. His thought path was broken, when James came into the room and placed a pile of four folders the bed. "HYDRA files on you and your family. Read, its important. What they did to you was not your fault. You are a victim, just like I was. Never forget that. Those bastards ruined everything."

Alex was then left alone with his homework.

First file - Department of War: Top Secret - Sergeant John Mitchell Rider, MC, DSO, 1st Battalion King's Own Royal Regiment, Lancashire (Honourable Discharge December 1943). Volunteer Project Ophion (January 1944- May 1944). Administered Phase 3 Serum 7/5/1944. Project Cancelled after project laboratory on Roundway Down, Wiltshire destroyed by Hydra Rocket direct hit 9/5/1944.

Everything boiled down to his grandfather, who had been a lab rat for a knock off version of Zola's or Erskine's superhuman serum.

Alex read his own, his father's and his uncle's files, noting a legacy of quicker reflexes, enhanced awareness, strength, stamina and healing. HYDRA had been behind Scorpia's repeated attempts to kill him and the successful termination orders on the loyal MI6 agents John and Ian Rider. He had survived to adulthood, for HYDRA to use one of their mole's in MI6 to gain control of a washed up teenage super soldier.

Had MI6 known about his semi-enhanced status? Was Ian's training part of an MI6 attempt to reproduced the KGB's Red Room? Was his whole life a failed experiment? Had his personal rejection of becoming a patriot resulted in HYDRA's change of heart to use him?

The blond ex-spy was lying on the floor surrounded by papers. Soft words in Russian being whispered, James offering comfort and reassurance. Alex was safe. He was free. The date, their location and that James was here to look after him. The metal hand stroking through blond hair and the soft reassuring presence of the other hand on Alex's back.

Alex shuddered and relaxed. "So, is this a thing now. Blacking out when everything gets too much?"

James sat back, but did not break contact. "I promise the seizures will stop. The reason we are here is that someone from your past is looking for you, a friend. Not an operative, but someone who you knew as a kid. They must have read the same files I did from the information dump after the fall of SHIELD. They never believed you were dead. We will go and see if you can recognise them. Hopefully it will help you recover the rest of your memories of happier times."


	7. Chapter 7

Steve arrived back to the motel with coffee and a breakfast burrito for his friend. During his walk he had decided his life needed a rethink and it started right now. The road trip had seen him begin to rely on Sam's easy friendship and steadfast morality. Even so, the tall blond was beginning to think it was Sam's presence alone that was keeping him sane. He had cut his meals and snacks to the bare minimum. Just enough calories to function, comforted by the only thing he had complete control of, as he dwelled on the constant ache of hunger burning in his gut; the only thing about him that was comparable to the poor kid from Brooklyn. Tired, hungry, cold and under the weather was almost like normal for the pre-enhanced artist, but as a soldier during operations in Europe he had always been hungry, when standard army field rations were pitiful for his metabolism's energy needs.

The Captain was being a sneak about food as well, playing the game of not acknowledging Sam's worried looks nor his friend's marathon text messages to Natasha. Yep, he was depressed, demonstrating classic control mechanisms, but he was being really blinkered and was pretending his mood was no worse than the burden he had become accustomed to over the last two years; only it was a million times worse. He tried to talk to Sam about Bucky, but so much was left unsaid, the words never enough to describe his guilt and devastation; all happy memories of growing up in Brooklyn and of the easy comradeship of brother's in arms tainted by the lingering evil of HYDRA. He had hated every single one of his sessions with the SHIELD psychiatrist, a man he had never trusted. It had taken everything he held dear to come crashing down for him to actually make friends and begin to build his life again. He just had to start pulling himself out of the hole he had fallen into. He had to remain strong for Bucky now, even if his best friend never wanted to see him again.

Sam had already packed his belongings in his small bag and was waiting for his friend to return with new game plan. Certain in the fact that while he had slept, the Captain had selected another target or stake out. He grinned at his partner in crime, when he entered the room with food and coffee and greeted "Where to next, Cap?"

It hit Steve Rogers like a sledge hammer how kind and loyal Sam had been, dropping everything to go on this pointless chase, when this friend still had a life and family. "I'm running on empty, Sam. We really need to take a few days for R&R."

"You are preaching to the choir here. Damn it, Steve; you really need it. Its been days since you slept at all. Cause 20 minute catnaps do not count" The ex-therapist did not add that Steve Rogers needed more than simple rest.

Steve smiled weakly, "I'm thinking about heading back to New York to check in with Hill, Banner and Stark." The tall man then sighed, feeling bone weary. "We both need a break from this search as all our leads are cold. Intel from Fury has proved Bucky's in Europe, now anyway. Go spend some time with your ma and your sisters." Steve quickly packed his own meagre belongings. "Get going Sam, you take the car. I'll get the bus back east. Your Ma needs to see you. Give them all my best wishes." He then decided to cut to the chase. "I might need more than a few days. I need to get my head together and get back on track. All this has knocked me for six. More than I realised. You got me thinking, that I should think about what makes me happy. A simple question that I couldn't answer. That I still can't answer."

Sam stood in the door briefly, he would text Natasha and suggest a team intervention, just to make sure Steve got some rest and was not tempted to continue his crusade against HYDRA. "Call me as soon as you feel like heading out again or if you need me for anything." Sam bit his tongue as urging the big guy to see a shrink, as talking to Banner was as close as the stoic hero was willing to open up about all things Serum related.

The soldier had already calculated that it would take Sam over five hours to drive to Atlanta. "I'll text you when I get back to Manhattan. Take care."

Steve headed back to New York, a journey already planned with several changes in a strange sinuous path. He was too wary to take the direct route, always aware his death had been ordered by Alexander Pearce.

…..

It was a damp and murky Thursday morning when Steve Rogers returned to Manhattan. He stood at the memorial plague at Grand Central Station and thought back to that really horrible Friday, when his home city had burned and its citizens had been brutally maimed and cruelly murdered. The veteran would take an alien invasion anyday over the betrayal of HYDRA and the torture of his best friend.

With his new burner phone, the bearded, long haired and bedraggled hero of New York texted Sam. He was only two blocks from the midtown monstrosity that was now known as Avengers Tower. He had his shield, now stripped of all red, white and blue paint, strapped to his back; his heirloom returned to him while he was still in hospital in Georgetown. Steve Rogers was no longer a symbol of patriotism, not after Insight. He was truly an Avenger now.

He had entered the lobby, when a dark suited member of security showed Captain Rogers to the private elevator to the upper floors.

In the glass enclosed space, the cool calm tones of JARVIS stated simply "Welcome home, Captain. Dr. Banner is waiting for you."

The lone occupant of the lift, pulled out his notebook and looked at the list of questions regarding the Serum, mental health issues and the start of a game plan for building a future not built on lies, revenge and betrayal and with the possibility of some sort of happiness. He stood up tall, knowing he was his mother's son, as she had instilled her morals in him. Build on what is good, make do with the hand you've been dealt and hope for future. He had a damn sight more to rely on now, than he had before the war; when had had only one friend, but that thought brought his friendship and his debt to Bucky into stark contrast. He would fight tooth and nail for Bucky, because he was the only person alive who was in the Winter Soldier's corner.

Steve face broke into a genuine smile at his nervous team mate. "Thanks for meeting me Bruce. I need to talk to you about the serum. Yours, Erskine's and HYDRA's. You have read my profile. I know Abraham left only very basic medical files and kept most of his research in his head. On paper I was never an ideal candidate. Not with my medical history. It was my psychological testing that stood out. I was forthright, tenacious, bright, stood up for myself and others and hated bullies, all facts that are still true. I was a 4F, but was just to stubborn to recognise the fact. The serum and the full dose of vita rays changed everything about me. I've kept notes since I was rescued. I trust you will follow Erskine's example. Read and destroy. This information cannot be used, considering the high likelihood of unknown outcomes. I know a bit about Zola's experiments, Bucky had survived weeks of torture in Italy before they gave him the serum.

"He was a wreck when I got to Azzarno, skinny as hell, exhausted, burning with fever. I had to carry him out of that place. We both missed more than a few meals growing up. When we lived together before the war, you made choices either food or heat, rent before either of those. I did not earn much illustrating, washing dishes, selling newspapers. Bucky did hard manual work, never enough for necessities never mind luxuries. We still snuck into the movies and to the ball games more often than paying. We were poor. Most of the time, I went to Madam Luzentia for her medicines and heal hands as I could not afford the hospital, doctors or pharmacy bills."

The gentle giant paused and came clean about his current dark mood. "My journal is detailed, since I came out of the ice, its good that I have something real to keep track of my days, the impossibility of everything, of lists of things to do, learn, prioritise. I know Tony gave me one of those pads but pen and paper are more familiar. Lately since Washington, I've been eating like I did as a kid. I miss simple things, like my mom's oatmeal, cabbage and potatoes, her bean soup. Even butter and milk doesn't taste right. Artisan bread is OK, I guess. Getting to the point, I didn't want to eat. Sleeping's been hard. I see Bucky fall, all those kid's who died and aren't in the history books, my perfect memory notes all the details, all the times I could have, should have done better. I know Sam's worried. Its time I called for backup. I need to be on my toes, so I don't make anymore mistakes, that I notice the inconsistencies and act on them. I should have acted on my concerns over SHIELD, then again hindsight's a wonderful thing."

….

The trip to Robotics facility in Maine had been routine and a boring waste of his valuable time for the billionaire genius, definitely a case of been there and done that better. Tony Stark was glad to be home, as Avenger's Tower in New York now was. His piece of prime real estate in Malibu was still being refashioned by the third set of architects, as he wanted more, bigger, better; not a rehash of what had been. Tonight Tony Stark was glad of company, as two of his fellow Avengers were home. Of most interest was the presence of their Captain had finally resurfaced after he and five others had taken down both SHIELD and HYDRA.

In the elevator he emailed the news to Pepper, who was in Russia haggling over a joint venture Stark Energy plant for the Roscoe-Drevin Satellites Launch Facility. She had been copied into the round robin of Steve-watchers, as both the Falcon and the Black Widow had kept tabs on the man with a plan.

Once Tony had finished catching up on his urgent messages, Jarvis informed him "Captain Rogers has been in Dr. Banner's Laboratory all afternoon, sir. The Biometric sensors and all routine surveillance have been disabled. Dr. Banner insisted on a Level One Security Blackout. You are the only person with clearance to disturb your team mates."

That peaked Tony's interest, it suggested either their was a problem with the serum or the facts known about Erskine's enhancement was erroneous in some way. Quite likely since the scientist died taking his secrets with him and any attempts to replicate it had resulted in high mortality in the test subjects and horrific side effects in those that survived. As a side project, Jarvis had data mined the Hydra files on the Serum that Schmidt had been working on and those files as shown by the defection of the Dutch scientist Clara Ghent to the British in 1941 had meant Project Ophion had been close to cracking the problems of the serum to produce a super soldier army. The reason for Hydra bombing the research facility in 1944. No project could get off the ground now, not when 95% of your test subjects died and there was more than a 75% chance of the ones that had survived were deeply flawed. The CIA position was shoot to kill on the Winter Soldier, the only known HYDRA success to date. The rumours of a back-up were still just rumours. Test Subject AJR-1987 had not been traced, yet. Then again, for fifty years, the Winter Soldier had been just a ghost story. The destruction of the bases in Serbia, Montenegro and Slovenia pointed to the fact the Winter Soldier was destroying all research facilities connected to the super soldier serum.

Bruce was sat, hunched over in full concentration going over data. Tony was not going to disturb his colleague and pulled the data up on his Stark pad.

"Is this for real? The Serum is still enhancing Steve? It is correcting for starvation, over work and making him stronger, more resilient and more intelligent?" Tony looked through the data collected over months. Steve had kept a meticulous journal of his bad habits.

Steve had shared all the details about the real genius behind serum based human enhancement and could remember every detail of Project Rebirth. Bruce knew this knowledge was extremely dangerous, not one whisper could get back to Ross. "Thats the thing, I'll bet every cent I ever earned that Erskine knew exactly how his serum worked and is still working. At a sub-molecular level it has to be correcting flaws in DNA. Only its not flaws, its like evolution here, now, happening right in front of us. Cell regeneration means enhanced healing, no illnesses, no scar tissue and also no ageing. We, I mean Betty and I.. we made assumptions and we got it so, so wrong. Look at our only test subject to be a true success, he was frail, weak, definitely disabled. Partial hearing loss, severe asthma, scoliosis, heart problems, weak lungs, kidney problems, severe iron and B12 anaemia, underweight, periodic malnutrition. I was A1 fit, so was Schmidt and look how we turned out. Big Red and crazy and Big Green and angry, not good. Not good at all. The truth was always staring us in the face. Now, the Winter Soldier, he had been a slave worker, possibly wounded, maybe with a severe infection, malnutrition definitely, dehydration, over all poor health. The serum worked correcting underlying problems then on enhancing in a controlled way. We were all fooled by the radiation. Maybe not . She uses multiple doses, increasing in potency. Her third group of subjects were all from serious injury wards from what little information that's available. The Hydra files stated their last test subject was a grandson of an Ophion surviver who dug himself out of the crater in Wiltshire. That disaster may have kicked started the serum. Steve has already told me more. I want your promise me not to tell a soul, not even Pepper about this. We take this info to our graves like Erskine. Even Jarvis has to wipe this info rather than let it be disseminated. Its a poison chalice. No more puppets for HYDRA."

….

…

At 2AM, Pepper Potts travelled up to the Penthouse, in the private elevator, barefoot. As her sky-high Louboutin heels were in her Balenciaga handbag. The elevator door opened and in the living room, Bruce and Tony were studying data over several holo-screens.

"Hi Guys, its way past bedtime," stated the tired boss of Stark Industries as she went to the kitchen for a bottle of water.

Tony with a flick of his left hand saved all open documents and put all work on hold. "Right, we have a situation with Steve. He's in our guest room and JARVIS is playing nurse with Bruce as doctor and in the spirit of not being hypocrites, when calling the good Captain out for bad habits, we shall all go to bed and try to get our eight hours of beauty sleep with a simple and nutritious breakfast in the morning."

Pepper smiled at the camaraderie and would do her best to encourage good habits, knowing her own drive to overwork and miss meals. "Good job, so take me to bed, Mr. Stark. See you in the morning Bruce".


	8. Chapter 8

Edward Pleasure had been a journalist over 30 years, twenty of those as a freelance, following one scoop after another; but for the last eight years he had been doggedly following the scant trail of clues left by the disappearance of foster son Alex. That broken young man had disappeared, but in the last two months fall of SHIELD had exposed HYDRA's operations and had finally given him concrete proof that Alex had been kidnapped, tortured and brainwashed in 2005, all with the aim to produce the perfect remorseless killer. There was the slim possibility, that Alex was still a prisoner, only that hope was wearing thin. All leads to the named technicians had shown they were long gone and the bases detailed in the files had recently been destroyed. For two months, the reporter had been following a trail of blood and destruction across the Balkans, filing stories along the way to keep his hand in rather than any drive to write. Then no attacks or any new leads for the last two weeks. Maybe his ex-wife had been right all along. In 2006, Liz had started the legal process of declaring Alexander Rider dead. His refusal to cooperate, to see reason in her eyes, had resulted in her kicking him out.

He was sat around in the same hotel he's occupied while covering the Serb side of the Balkans war. Only now it was like he was a holiday rather than actual work. Sitting on his arse with no leads, no witnesses and the fact anyone remotely affiliated to HYDRA had either disappeared or was denying all knowledge of the missing English boy. He had heard the rumours from contacts in Russian Federal Security Services that the HYDRA's top assassin, the infamous Winter Soldier, had gone rogue after Washington and was now cleaning house with ruthless efficiency. Rather than sit and do nothing, he revisited his sources and then uncovered the Rider family history in those files.

At the point of going stir crazy, Edward started looking up every old contact he knew in the city. So, this evening the journalist was sat in a back street bar in Zagreb, waiting to catch up with Pavel Grozhni, to a former assistant of Zeljan Kurst, the former head of the Yugoslavian Secret Police then chairman of SCORPIA. That criminal organisation had recently been outed as being part of HYDRA.

Edward had drunk three cups of strong black coffee and could not stomach another, so ordered a beer to nurse as his contact was over an hour late. Really, he should go back to London, apologise profusely to Liz and start to mourn Alex properly. Only he would always feel guilty over his misguided parenting when he just let Alex walk out the family home in 2005 and then for trusting Tulip Jones to protect him, when the eighteen year old had returned to London. He knows that Alex was eighteen, ready to start university and that he is being maudlin over decisions he would always have made, considering how could you plan for HYDRA's interest in a washed up teen spy. He rubbed his aching leg, which throbbed from overused. The physical discomfort a daily reminder of all he owed Alex. The atmosphere in the bar stilled and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He slowly looked around to the bar and suddenly stopped breathing. Now he was hallucinating, stood by the bar was Alex. Looking like the same teenager that had left San Francisco in 2005. Tall, lean but with longer hair and looking like he had not slept in days. In shock, he took in a deep breath as the young man was walking up to him.

A bottle of Jack Daniels was placed on the table with two glasses. A familiar deep voice with a slight London accent spoke softly, "You look like you could do with a drink." A stiff measure of bourbon was poured out into each tumbler and the blond downed his in one gulp. "I remember you. You were kind to me. From the little I can piece together, you always listened and never judged me for being a paranoid nutcase."

Edward could not take his eyes off the kid, who could not possibly be Alex as he looked not one day older than they had parted at the airport, almost nine years ago.

The staring contest was intense, but then again this whole reunion was strange, Alex had seen this man in his dreams, just fragments of conversations, no real substance. "Right, come on, drink up. It'll help because you're in shock and no, I'm not a ghost or an imposter. I remember you drinking this shit on the flight out to San Francisco, after Jack died. You said you only drank when you had to break bad news to Liz." Alex wondered if he had trusted this man enough to talk about his checkered past. He could not right out ask, 'was I a killer/terrorist/spy?'. "I guess we played happy families for a while." Alex then sat down and refilled his glass and knocked back another mouthful of the amber liquor, like it was water. "I was told that meeting you would jog my memories. Can't say it has. So, I have serious memory problems… amnesia. HYDRA did that to me, most of my memories are a jumble without context or meaning. Most of what I do remember I wish I didn't."

"You have not aged?" The man blurted out looking at the thin, impossibly young face with matted, unevenly cut, blond hair and familiar brown eyes. The face was an expressionless mask, the blankness, exempt of all emotion, that had settled in after Jack's death.

"Yeah, well, those fucking bastards froze me for nearly eight years. Technical the term's Cryofreeze. Hurt like a bitch getting defrosted. They fucked with my head before that. Tried to wipe me clean, with the usual torture, torture and more torture. Who am I kidding, there was no try about it; I woke up not even knowing my own name. I've been informed my memories should come back with positive stimuli, only I get there was not a whole lot of positive about my life before." Alex was tempted to drink the entire bottle of bourbon, not that alcohol affected him. He knew the connection to this man was there, as he hated the fact Edward looked so haunted. Alex sighed, not knowing how to move this one sided conversation on, wanting more than anything to tell Edward to go home and forget about Alex Rider.

With a shaking hand, Edward Pleasure mirrored Alex and downed the whisky in one gulp and then automatically coughed, "Shit, that burned. To think of the hundreds, no thousands, of interviews I've done and today I can't think of one thing to ask you?" Edward carefully poured himself another whiskey. "So, verification that you are you. Show me your lower left arm, hand up."

The pattern of six moles in a slightly wonky line was still there. "Questions are tricky, with your memory problems, but what is Yassen's real name?"

"Yasha…Of course you'd know I could never forget that absolute cunt." Alex quipped with a sad smile.

Edward laughed at the coarse language. "Lets go get dinner at my hotel. Don't worry Dieter Sprintz is footing the bill. He shared my belief that you were still alive. We have both read those HYDRA files about you being enhanced."

"No, Edward. Enhanced? That makes it sound like its a good thing, when the fact is it fucking sucks and blows big time. As for being frozen, that is not life. Technically I was a frozen corpse and any normal person would have died. The serum bullshit is like a vampire curse. Death is preferable. You should mourn your son. The Alex you knew and loved died. I'm just the scrapings on the floor left after all that was your Alex was scrubbed away."

…..

Nick Fury was chasing shadows and ghosts in Europe, as soon as he had a lead on the former SHIELD operatives known to be rogue, they had fled or the base concerned had been raised to the ground. HYDRA was scattered to the wind, waiting on the opportunity to resurrect itself. He was following a lead on the most recent phases of research into superhuman serum, rumours of a descendent of the WWII British super-soldier programme. He had sent the notes he had procured to Stark and Banner. The subject in question was a twenty-seven year old male in cryofeeeze somewhere in Eastern Europe, most likely Albania, Serbia or Macedonia. It was a lot of ground to cover for a single one eyed ex-SHIELD director. He was currently on high alert, as a lifetime as a high profile target told him he was being watched.

Two days ago Maria Hill had been set a text from a burner phone, this address, a date and time and promise of information. She had sent the info to him, not her new boss Stark. The bar was on a backstreet in Sarajevo, a place no tourist would frequent. The barman had detailed prison arm and neck tattoos proudly on display. The tall blackman with an eyepatch was watching both front and rear doors as he drank his beer. The local brew was cold and wet. The bar snacks were some form of salted treat. No TV or awful Europop playing was its best feature.

The street bordered the red light district, so the spymaster was not surprised when a young man dressed in very tight black jeans and Gap t-shirt arrived, texting on his phone after ordering a coke in Serbian. Ten minutes later an English journalist walked in, with the barman was already pouring out two glasses of raki. Fury had recognised the man immediately as he had read Edward Pleasure's byelines in Vanity Fair after he moved to the US. The guy was a long way from home.

One glass was placed in from of the American, the journalist stated in a soft London accent, "Your health, Mr. Fury. Information for your Avengers."

A data stick was left on the bar, untouched by the supposed recipient as the ex-director of SHIELD's good eye watched the kid walk out again, swinging his hips and whistling the tune of the Star Spangled Man and into a waiting taxi.

"This is information is a bargaining chip. Quid Quo Pro. Not all info on HYDRA is in the open. You know my foster son. Former MI6 operative kidnapped on the orders of that bastard Pearce, tortured, wiped and frozen. Found and defrosted by the infamous Bucky Barnes." The thin bald man drained his drink in one, looking old and tired, thinking of moving again, as going back to the US was no longer safe; not with people like General Ross in the mix. "You will leave us alone. Alex is going to Switzerland. Dieter Sprintz is paying for neurological and psychiatric treatment. Yes, he may be a super-soldier, but he is out of the picture. The info on the stick is all real. I had it independently checked out by a friend of a friend. There is a HYDRA base in Sokovia. You guys need to put a stop to the experiments on the orphans there. Rather than waste resources, Barnes is no longer in Bosnia. He handed Alex over and left two days ago. My son has seizures and he still can't recall most of his childhood. It may take years for him to recover. Do your job and wipe HYDRA off the map." The worried father had digested the hard facts over deep programming and their long term effect that meant Alex was never likely to leave a psychiatric unit.

Without waiting for agreement or confirmation of the deal with the man known for his poker face and hard bargains, Edward left as he needed to catch up with Alex and get to the airport as a business jet was waiting. Knowing that what remained of SHIELD was here meant others would be close on Fury's tail.

…..

As a spy trained in paranoia during the Cold War, Fury had ensured a full record of his bar visit from a hidden camera, with back up to Coulson and his team. Just after the journalist disappeared from view, Fury got confirmation that the kid in the bar had a 97% match to Alexander John Rider. If the intel was kosher, he would let Alex rest and heal. Only his promises had the backing of no one, as they were not the guard dogs for the world anymore and the Avengers were now Stark's chew toy. He had to hand it to the kid's foster father, Switzerland was a safe bet. No-one pissed on the bankers of the world, not even HYDRA.

…..

Sabina Pleasure at nineteen had been sure she knew exactly how her life would play out. She had been in Oxford staying with her boyfriend; when Alex had disappeared in London a week before the start of his First Year at the School of Eastern European and Slavonic Studies to read Russian. Since then, she had endured the failure of her parents marriage, misfortune of several dozen bad jobs and a shitty relationship with a asshole lecturer who had thought hitting her was justified. Three years ago, she decided to get off the fence, playing go between for her Mum, who stubbornly refused to speak to Dad. She had bluntly told Liz Pleasure that, in her heart of hearts, she knew that Alex was lost, alone and needed them. Her mother had taken that as proof of siding with her ex-husband, not the plain fact that she could not, would not think of her brother from another mother decomposing somewhere in an ummarked grave.

Her dad had kept himself busy: chasing leads and stories, all work, work, work; driven since his the love of his life morphed into queen bitch of the universe. Even so, her daddy always made time for her, arranged treats and outings. They had grown closer. After the fallout between mother and daughter, he had paid her rent and for basic necessities as she finished the novel she had started writing to escape the horror of not knowing Alex's fate. Her heroine was steadfast and true, her lover lost in the Great War and the lonely spinster found love again, against all odds in 1930's Berlin. The bitter sweet ending as the shadow of war beckoned again. Pure historical romance escapism had been published, becoming an unexpected bestseller and her second novel was in the bag. As a treat her father had sent her tickets to visit his new home in Montreux. His flat in Pimlico had been shockingly awful. Last month, he'd packed up and relocated. His new apartment had a view over Lake Geneva. She suspected he had a new lover.

The first thing she noticed as she exited customs into the arrivals hall of Geneva Airport was that her father looked younger, happier and less care worn. He had a decent haircut, new glasses, a sun tan and new clothes. They kissed and hugged and Sabina could tell her dad had something to tell her, but had waited until they were face to face.

They were silent until Edward pulled out of the car park. "We are going to visit someone in hospital. I went to Serbia last month. Then I moved here. You were busy with finishing your novel, so now I can let the cat out of the bag and not derail your final edit. You can only tell people you trust, but I found him…. I found Alex in Serbia. He has amnesia, blackouts and seizures. All caused by severe trauma. If he asks for Liz, I'll talk to her, but I'm a realist. He has more bad days than good ones. Yesterday it took him a game of chess to recognise me and I've visited three times a week for the last two weeks."

They grove to a secluded road in a forest, which emerged into a former merchant's hunting lodge, now an exclusive clinic.

In a beautiful garden, surrounded by a double fence, Alex sat reading one of Edward's publications on Point Blanc. It helped him gain perspective on his visitors. People he sort of recognised, but could not name. Jamie Sprintz was a regular, visiting twice a week, sometimes with is super dour dad, but mostly on his own. Edward came three times a week, varying his visits, so not to fall into a pattern. His foster father was acting like a paranoid burned spy. Today, Sabina was coming. A girl no longer, but a divorced young woman, with two popular historical romance novels under her belt, one of which was going made into a movie. Edward was so proud of her. His whole face lit up when he started talking about her, then usually shut up, stating spoilers; as details could wait until the two siblings got reacquainted.


	9. Chapter 9

…..

ACT 2: LET SLEEPING WOLVES LIE

…..

For eighteen months the former captive had wallowed in self pity. Depression had a grip on Alex's psyche, not helped by severe separation anxiety over his absent saviour; as Barnes had his own demons to chase. It had taken an eon to relax, but he knew the clinic was safe, even if it was not anyone's ideal of home. He was not a lab rat, or about to be brainwashed, blackmailed back into operations, or kidnapped again by HYDRA, as they were officially toast or driven so underground it would take decades to reestablish the ground they had lost. Not quite living up to Schmidt's hype of two heads rising if one is cut off.

The ever observant patient rarely spoke in his head shrinking sessions or group, but had regular visits from old friends, some he remembered and some he didn't. James Sprintz and Edward Pleasure were weekly regulars. Sabina had come twice. Her first visit had been an epic fail on his part, as he'd had a full on Status epilepticus seizure when she said hi. Her second visit had been during his three month lost inside his own head phase. Edward and James had both talked, when he was silent, chatting about everything and nothing. She could not cope with the stonewalling.

His epilepsy was triggered by memories, rather than anything physical or chemical, but his brain was healing with steady improvement both psychologically and neurotically. The seizures still happened, of the blankly staring into space variety. The improvement on its own, as all available medication had been tried, both prescribed and experimental, and had done precisely nothing except make the patient experience the most of the awful side effects. Surgery had been discounted, after the initial exploratory procedure had failed due to the detrimental effect of strapping the patient down under local anaesthetic. The horror of the whole experience had resulted in his three month long, near catatonic mute phase. The quantities of drugs needed for putting serum enhanced Alex fully under were calculated to be so large, it would kill him from an overdose or respiratory failure.

His psychiatrist, Dr. Mario Cinelli, had been satisfied to timetable in some overnight home visits to Montreux with Edward. A step away from becoming an outpatient.

Yesterday, Edward had left his laptop. Folders of files containing detailed research into Alex's grandfather. Like a naughty child, Alex had read every word filling in the gaps, as he'd just been given a sugar coated version of history and events. The destruction of the hospital in Wiltshire had lead to all files being burned and all queries disavowed. John Rider was a man forgotten by history, like the Project he survived. The only survivor had returned home, then assumed his cousin's identity. Both men sharing the same name and of similar ages, named after the same grandfather. Officially, the Sergeant of the King's Own Lancashire Regiment had died of his wounds in 1944, and the other John Rider was missing, presumed dead in the North Atlantic in late 1943, a victim of the U-boat Wolf packs praying on Allied convoys. His grandfather spent eight years after the war as a merchant seaman in the Near and Far East, enough time to built up his alias, then to return to fill his dead cousin's shoes. The simple ploy had worked, until the early seventies, then Jack Rider had been spooked. He had sent his boys to stay with friends in Manchester, five days before Jack had died in a 'gangland' killing. The coroners verdict, unlawful death, as Jack Rider had been brutally beaten, shackled with chains and shot. The attempted arson, set off to destroy all evidence of foul play, had failed as the fire never took hold; noticed within minutes by a nosy neighbour, and easily put out by the Fire Brigade. All witness statements singled out several foreign-looking strangers in the quiet Derbyshire village in the days before Jack's murder. Alex stared at the police sketch. The neighbour had described the Winter Soldier in all his glory.

Alex's whole life boiled down to HYDRA's beef with all things serum related. His dad and Ian had been brought up by their father with a distinct skills set, to be able to hide in plain sight and survive being different…just like Ian had with him. Like a dam bursting, all the pieces his life fell into place. He could remember everything with perfect recall. Rather than the cheerful, bright room as homely as you could make a long term room in the clinic, he was once again alone in the dark, locked into the cyrochamber, screaming himself hoarse, only this time trapped in the none stop maelstrom of grief, pain and bleak hopelessness.

He woke in ICU in Geneva hospital two days later. Strapped down and doped up as much as safe limits allowed. The doctors arguing about the failure of the induced coma and safe alternatives after a massive bleed on a 'serum-enhanced' brain. The patient lay there and pondered the full reality of his life. Ian had not been some patriotic asshole with a teen spy game plan, but a justifiably paranoid control freak keeping the enemy close, by working for them. All the games and training for his nephew, hiding in plain sight, blend in, never to outshine your peers in the hope to keep him alive. Edward's plan of laying low and healing had worked up to now, but Plan B was the reality of run and keep running, like Bucky, and was probably the best future he could hope for considering he had his full mental capacity back and sooner rather than later people like Fury, Jones or some bastard like Ross would realise he was a usable asset and/or threat to international security and come calling. Only at this precise moment he was as usable as a kitten. This stroke was the worst thing possible, as more than ever he would be under 24/7 care with days, if not weeks needed to recover.

He mulled over the facts. Cossack was a big puzzle, the assassin who had not killed him. All his knowledge on the Russian stated he was a full on psycho with no empathy for anyone. Yet, his father had trained Yassen to be that emotionless killer, treating him like he was some long lost kid brother. Then gifting Alex that data drive, a diary of killer. That stick he'd given to Edward to read in 2002. A teenager in the eighties, who had escaped the biological plague death zone in Estrov, because the HYDRA controlled biochemist had immunised his son with the antidote. What if the syringe had contained another bastardised version of the serum, which was the only hope of letting Yasha Gregorvich survive. That made more sense in hindsight as it would explain why JohnRider had invested time in a kid, to the point of jeopardising his own position with SCORPIA.

The whole dying speech on Air Force One, to go to Venice and find out the truth, had set Alex on the path to destroy Rothman, Yu, Ash and later Razim and Kursk. Then he'd been fostered by the Pleasures and their choice to live in San Fransisco has been the only reason he'd had two and a half years of nearly normal, because he'd saved the life of the US Secretary of State and she'd pulled strings, stripping the CIA's of its hold on him. That protection had ceased when he turned eighteen and SHIELD had made their play. He'd called in his favour withTulip Jones, going to university was a precursor to rejoining MI6, as an analyst/handler, not as an agent. Within weeks it had all gone south. As HYDRA wanted the last Rider under their control, on their terms, not in a position to destroy their terrorist puppets again.

He woke just before dinner, the nurses talking of the bombing of the UN conference in Berlin. The patient could barely move his fingers and toes on his right hand side, the damage from the stroke had made practicalities of an escape impossible. Edward came by that evening, looking like a father who'd not slept in several days.

"Hey, you scared all of us so much. Sabina's even visiting this weekend. So, no more repeats of Monday thank you, OK."

Alex grunted in reply, trying to get his tongue and mouth to coordinate resulted in a mouthful of spit with nowhere to go other than down his face.

His father smiled and wiped the drool away with his handkerchief. "Back home tomorrow, full physio and speech therapy program to look forward to. You'll be back up and talking in no time." The journalist did not mention his ancient laptop had been smashed during the full medical emergency, but he'd a full back up on a hard drive from last weekend and he'd buy another non-wifi replacement from a thrift store. Edward Pleasure was a man suspicious of things cloud related and kept his phone for emails and surfing the internet. If Wikileaks and the Black Widow could download government dirty laundry with a push of a button and open internet connection, he was damn sure the NSA and their equivalents could do much worse. He was paranoid enough to keep his work and research private on nearly fifteen year old Dell and three hard drives as backup.

Edward smiled at the nurse and in passable French, volunteered to feed his son the tray of mush. "Umm, chicken, potatoes, carrots and peas. Open up and eat it all and I'll tell you all about the film being made about Sabina's book. There's a rumour Angelina Jolie is interested."

…

The extraction unit came at 2AM, with a full medical team along with the UN Armed Response Unit. Orders in place under the need for International Security under a sub-clause of the recently ratified Sokovia Accords, only Alexander Rider was in no state to sign or comply with anything. The neurologist stood her ground refusing to release her patient, only for the Agent in Charge to be tazer her and the patent tranquillised for immediate transport to the awaiting helicopter.

This one incident would lead to the Switzerland withdrawing its backing of the accords first thing in the morning. Three days later to be joined by Sokovian itself, as the country destroyed by Ultron backed the rights and liberty of Wanda Maximoff in the face of US unlawful internment.

…

Bucky sat on the floor and considered his captors, little Stevie and his new badass sidekick. He had always known his conditioning was still under the surface. The main reason Alex was in that neurological unit. The kid had never been used as a weapon. The backup had been frozen without the final stage of deep conditioning with easy to use instructions, seven code words to program the asset. He had run and kept running as he was and always would be the Winter Soldier. Only there were a full team on ice in Siberia, one that did not need the chair to comply, they were HYDRA's elite shock troops in waiting. Neither he nor the Avengers could stop them if activated.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been the worst 48 hours of his life, but Clint had no regrets. He'd left the farm with the full backing of Laura, a woman who knew the Accords were a direct attack on civil liberties should be opposed, no question. He had stuck by his ideals, which was always the hardest, when it came down to fighting your friends, your team. Clint knew Sam and Wanda well enough to know that were with him 100 per cent, that it was right thing to do and it was better to go down, rather than stay back and take the easy road of compliance, not when HYDRA and their close compatriots was involved in the mix. He could honestly say he had no idea why Scott came along for the ride, except the ex-con had a chip against authority and hero worshiped Steve. It all boiled down to Ross, who as any politician would, milked the situation for his own gain, and getting every enhanced human under his boot was his long term goal. Steve would never take orders from a man like, to follow orders to sit back and let innocents suffer or be the Poster Boy for nameless bureaucrats.

Each of them had been processed separately. He took stock of this Wanda was opposite with a stranger in the next cell. A kid, possibly in his early twenties but no older. He was slumped against the wall mirroring Wanda's posture and lost expression, only he was talking. Clint's hearing wasn't the best, but he was an expert lipreader. The kid was whispering in Sokovian. Reciting over and over that it was OK, she wasn't alone, they were imprisoned by US military, and then describing the daily routine in detail. Making a joke, having given all the guards stupid nicknames. Then telling the girl, that her friend was was listening in.

Alex stared at the older guy with the sharp wary eyes. His left hand waved, still whispering knowing the guy opposite understood, but the cameras and mikes could not. "Sorry, can't use sign at the moment, my right arm's not working right. I'm Rider…Alex to my friends. Your friend's been drugged up with some shit suppressant, I guess. If, she's like me, it'll stop working by the second dose. My dad thinks Ross is a fascist asshole, he was spot on about that. I was surprised Stark was in his corner though, then again he always struck me as an absolute ego maniac anyway."

Tony was a man with a mission, to salvage something from this absolute mess. First, he had to stop Barnes and Cap from making things worse. The moment he stepped into the prison, he was shocked by the catatonic Wanda and the disabled boy in the next room, who'd been snatched from his hospital bed and had the Swiss going full isolationist over. He could not be sidetracked by Ross's overzealous policing.

…

The black helicopter landed at Stark Industries Headquarters in LA, the CEO of Roscoe Electronics, Communications and Energy stepped out to see the smartly dressed PA waiting for him to take him straight to his counterpart for this hastily arranged meeting. Paul Roscoe liked Pepper Potts, but Stark was playing a dangerous game. He walked briskly, knowing the way, making the young woman run to keep up with his long legs and no nonsense attitude. Like Stark he had inherited a business empire as a teenager, only he had not had the opportunity, nor inclination to be a playboy; just ruthless, driven and with wily enough to regain control of his father's company at 21 and keep building from there.

The tall, glacial beauty was resplendent in the tailored power suit and heels so high, the CEO of Stark Industries was almost looking her 6'4" guest in the eye. She was perplexed as she knew Paul Roscoe was meant to be in Korea. Pepper smiled and gestured to the sofa for this unplanned meeting, "This is an unexpected pleasure, Paul. How can I help you?"

The blond twenty-nine year old knew he had few real friends, as he had used his inheritance to enact a hostile takeover of his father's company from a board who only saw his youth, not his drive to succeed. This encounter could be played out with full rancour, except he liked how this woman was always so open and friendly. He sat down and slumped, "Its a personal matter, Pepper. I'm here to beg for your help as you know how to mediate with Tony, cause if I see his weasel face at the moment I'm likely to knock out his teeth. He.. His friend Ross ordered the arrest of a dear friend. It was on the news this morning. Alex was is hospital in Geneva, he has epilepsy and neurological problems. When he was fourteen he saved my life and he and his foster father are close. For the last eighteen months I've been contributing to his medical bills. I have a trust set up to pay them until he dies. His doctor stated he was too unwell to be moved from ICU, so they incapacitated her and took him anyway. His condition just took a serious downturn, and he's in some secret prison. I need to know he's getting the best care. That we can visit, I will fly his foster father and friends out at my expense. Alex only recently found out his grandfather survived serum based trials in the forties, the British kept everything so secret. Its not like his long term prognosis was great. I just think he's going to die alone. At the moment we have no assurances they would even release his corpse for burial." Paul had not slept much since he heard Alex had a stroke on Monday and had been shuffling his schedule to visit Switzerland this weekend. He rubbed his tried eyes, trying not to loose control of the despair he felt.

Pepper was hugging her close business partner, who had just become a dear friend. "I'll talk to Tony and Rhodey, but I know from Bruce what a monster Ross is."

Paul nodded "Is he OK? Is that too much to ask for? Phone calls, visiting rights, and medical care are the rights of rapists and murderers. Hell, my friend Hugo is talking like its the holocaust again. You've met his father Rudi Vries, haven't you? His father's immediate family spend the war years hidden in a farmhouse near Ghent."

….

Alex had dreamt of twins every night, not his dreams but proof that Wanda's powers were subconsciously leaking out despite the drugs and the restraints. He woke noticing he was full of strange energy, as he hummed a Sokovian folk tune about shepherds and wolves. He dragged his body to rest against the joining wall and observe the others sleeping.

The three other prisoners opposite weren't cursed with enhancement. He had wondered why they were interned? Maybe they were acting as bait to draw in the rogue Steve Rogers.

The handsome black man was the first to wake, with a soft "Morning Lex, do those physio-exercises I showed you. Get your arm and leg moving, otherwise they'll atrophy."

With a one sided smile Alex nodded, "Sure thing, Sam. I've got bad pins and needles this morning. So, its improving." Maybe he was playing up his paralysis just a bit, since he had regained full feeling yesterday and now he had to bide his time for the smallest mistake to escape. There would be escape procedures, as even a submerged prison needed to plan for disaster.

…

The Wakandan pilot is silent, observing the passengers, comprising one friend of the King, two strangers and three former Avengers. He would report of the efficiency that one man break out, who had subdued all. Ross had acquiesced to T'Challa's request for doctors to assess the prisoners on behalf of the Swiss Government. The pilot had been a mercenary and the prison break using the same rouse as employed by Zemo in Berlin.

The two youngest prisoners were in obvious need of medical attention, as the plane flew higher and faster than any other commercial or military aircraft on its course to Switzerland. The Swiss government happy to offer sanctuary to the fugitives from the overzealous US Secretary of State, because of the blond young man, who held a Swiss passport and had been illegally imprisoned by the United States.

He pondered on that fact as the fallout over the Accords had affected international relations as well as the mighty Avengers. The destruction Sokovia meant the billionaire backer of the Avenger Initiative was no longer objective over security and international threats. The pilot had lived and worked as an observer of the outside world for twenty-five years, not that he understood Americans at all. Though Mr. Roger's was different, a true friend, a man who wielded vibranium like he had been born in the sacred mountain. A true warrior, who selflessly put a friends and family before himself, but was not afraid to defy all in defence of his heart.

For two hours all had been silent, until the pilot spoke to air traffic control. "Mr. Rogers, we will be landing in 25 minutes. I have been informed a Medical team is on standby."

…

Pepper Potts read the headlines on her phone on the mass breakout from the maximum security holding facility built for the Winter Soldier, but imprisoning three ex-Avengers, an ex-con and one Swiss invalid. Ross was being sued for $100 million by Paul Roscoe over failure to uphold the basic rights of those prisoners. That billionaire had money to burn, the best legal team money could buy and real grounds for his grievances on behalf of the friends and families of all illegally imprisoned.

She was going east to visit Rhodey in New York. Friday had been made aware of the lunch date she'd booked in Manhattan, as Tony had been avoiding her calls and her fifteen urgent emails requesting a meeting. The whole string of events had played out and she had very little sympathy for Tony's failure to empathise with Steve Roger's and his fear of government oversight after the fall of SHIELD. Her calls from Natasha had filled in all the horrible details. What of the innocent victim's? Not Tony's massive ego that only thought of his own losses, but Paul and his close friend, of Laura and her kids, Rhodey and Bucky Barnes. Tony had destroyed his friendships in his self righteous need for control. Pepper Potts shivered as she had the foresight to guess the handing over of the Avenger's to Ross's ideal of oversight was a very big mistake.


	11. Chapter 11

Like the statue in Prospect Park, Steve Rogers stood rigid, hyper alert, still running on adrenaline after the prison break. Luckily, Clint had taken over as liaison; giving all relevant details of the prisoner's treatment and the Raft itself with the Army Colonel and the team of officials from the Swiss Department for the State. All of them were being offered asylum, a chance of home in the land of cuckoo clocks, chocolate and secure banking. The man with a plan's eyes were on Sam and Wanda with the medical team. His friend was giving clear and concise details on how poorly the two enhanced humans had been treated. Wanda was still unconscious, having spend several days semi-conscious in a drug induced state. The kid, Alex, was insisting he was fine and asking after his foster father and going home to Montreux. Steve looked away, turning to observe the wall and he was caught in a flashback to a lifetime ago, when Howard had flown him across Lake Geneva and just to see a corner of Europe not affected by war.

Scott coughed to get his hero's attention. "Thanks again and tell your friends in Wakanda I said Hi." The dark haired fighter for injustice was damn sure he'd never don a super-suit again, cause losing one would mean Hank and Hope had no reason to trust him. "As prison's go, that one sucked more than county or the Federal Supermax. I have to warn you I can't stay indefinitely. I have family. These guys are the world's mediators and I'm no longer under parole, and I know enough about due process and nice legalities of the Western World, so the shit we caused in Leipzig is no longer something they can charge us with. So here and now, you look like you need some down time. We all do. Get perspective."

…...

All of them were taken to the base hospital. Steve did not grumble, and sat on the nearest empty bed, then copying Clint, Sam and Scott do the same, so he lay down. Closing his eyes to grieve, at the high cost of doing the right thing, of standing his ground. He had no regrets at sticking to his own moral compass and was already planning for the future and needed to send an olive branch to Tony. He also needed to tell Alex about Bucky's decision to go back on ice. His old friend had told him all about the kid he'd rescued from HYDRA, insisting the teenage backup was clean. Was the kid also programmed to kill? In the medical files released by the Swiss clinic, in their war of openness and transparency against Ross, their patient was a young man with fugue state amnesia, epilepsy caused by brain damage, who had suffered an unexpected bleed on the brain two weeks ago. Under close observation for eighteen months, and not one inkling of programming.

The only good thing, was that all files had been wiped and medical samples at the Raft and their labs had been destroyed. Sam had stated that tissue, blood, hair samples had been taken twice daily from Wanda and Alex. The kid had received no physiotherapy nor any actual medical treatment for his partial paralysis. The whole cover of international security had been used as a means to restart Project Rebirth. He, Bucky, Wanda and Alex were now just guinea pigs. He was trying to assuage his guilt about Wanda, the breakout had proved to him that everything Bruce had said about Ross had been true. Guilt and anger served no purpose. He was now more of an Avenger than he had ever been. He had been shown his path, and he would keep doing what was needed and justified. Fury had spoken the truth when he'd said he was in charge now and no bureaucrat was standing in his way.

Sleep came as Scott's snoring distracted Steve from planning and reminded him of better times.

…...

Alex sat bolt upright, it was as if the ward was filled with Wanda's screams, only she was in the a private room at the other side of the nurses station. He knew the screams were in his head and yet he could not ignore her pain, even though he had yet to attempt walking unaided, as Scott had been the one to help him from his cell to the waiting plane.

Rather than effortlessly step out of the bed, Alex sort of fell. A full face plant averted only by his left hand gripping the bed frame. He tried to stand, but then decided moving like a snake was easier with the partial movement of his right hand side. Keeping low also meant he'd sneak past the nurse as he slid down the hall on the cool linoleum.

He opened the door to hear the whimpers of terror from Wanda, and see the red glow from her unrestrained hands light up the room. He rested by the foot of her bed and started humming the tune he'd heard her brother sing to her in his dreams. She stilled and relaxed, breathing deeper and even, as nightmares gave way to sleep. Her nighttime guardian was too tired for a return trip to his own bed, so he lay on the hard floor to sleep.

...

Clint was awake early, and observed the arrival of two grey haired guys, one with a limp, accompanied by the colonel. The nurse went to wake Alex then sounded the alarm as he was not in his room.

The American retired SHIELD Agent spoke up, wanting to know who these strangers were, by using a skill preferred by the Black Widow, being open and charming; "Hi I'm Clint Barton. I guess Lex snuck into Wanda's room early this morning. The kids were in adjoining cells and are now total BFFs." He left out the details of Alex being aware of events and memories about Wanda and Pietro, details that he could only have known about because of some weird side affect of the Witch's psychic powers being confined.

Edward Pleasure was glad Alex had made new friends, especially ones with excellent morals and no fear of Thaddeus Ross. "Thank you for looking after Alex. I'm Edward Pleasure, by the way, his foster father. This is Dieter Sprintz, a family friend. I spoke with Natasha yesterday, Dieter and I travelled straight here. Could I possibly have an interview later on today, just to give a balanced view on American's new internment policy?"

"You're welcome. I loved your piece on Sokovia, one of the few balanced articles that actually mentioned HYDRA's involvement setting us up."

Edward smiled at this well known spook, "Yeah, like to be my own boss and go for the jugular, rather than rehash the state sponsored bullshit. I write for The Spectator, Vanity Fair and The Guardian regularly. Here's my card. You'll have full editorial control over what's printed. We few on the right side of the normal argument need to stick together."

…..

Mirroring, his late night escapade, the prone figure asleep on the floor eyes snapped open, wide awake in an instant after a night undisturbed by nightmares with the curious certainty that Edward Pleasure, the only man he had ever called dad, was here with 'Uncle' Dieter. He could see Wanda was awake, but fully occupied in a deep trance, meditating and levitating two feet off her bed, attuning her power. Her whole body illuminated with her spectral red aura. Alex sat up without difficulty, he had changed so much since the last time he had spoken to his mismatched, non-biological family. Truth was there was no need for him to remain in medical care. During the few hours of sleep, he knew his body was healing exponentially fast due to his unique biology, as the only descendant of a serum enhanced super-soldier. He stood up and stretched. Walking with only a slight limp, as he left to give Wanda peace and quiet.

If those present needed proof that Alex was superhuman, they got it watching him walk unaided only less than two weeks after having a stroke, having spent five days receiving no medical attention at all. The limp and favouring his left hand side were the only signs of infirmity.

Alex went straight to Edward, as the last eighteen months living without full recall had meant they had built a real father and son relationship, whereas during the fostering in San Francisco the teenager had held himself aloof, afraid of attachments and the consequences of loss and blackmail. Arms open for a hug, the ex-prisoner knew this reconciliation would only be a short one, "I've missed you Dad. Missed everyone at the clinic. Promise, I'll never complain about food again, the shit they served up at the Raft made Army food at Brecon seem like Haute Cuisine."

The hug lasted an eon, only broken when Alex hugged Dieter for the first time. It had always been Jamie visiting as his father remained in the background. For the billionaire to come with Edward meant their was something going on. "How's Jamie and Sabina?"

Looking rather pleased that Jamie was still a troubled maker, "My son is in New York, coordinating with Paul, Tom and Joe; all enjoying coordinating litigation, social media and anti-Accord protests at the UN."

Alex smiled "Cool, wish I could join him, but I doubt I'll ever be able to go back to San Francisco or London."

…...

Steve Rogers laid still, listening to Clint and Alex, both seemed to have moved on from the horror of imprisonment overnight. He wanted to lie here and ignore everything, Sam would be the first to tell him to not let depression to take a hold. Natasha had stated they had to play the long game; keep the team in the open, fighting their corner and showing up the Accords for what they were, a bureaucratic stop peddle, hindering not helping those sworn to help others.

Life went on, again without Bucky, but with new faces to get to know, to train and to move forward. Time to introduce himself to a very canny journalist and his rich and influential friend. Their master spy had already informed him that three billionaires were anti-Ross; the American Paul Roscoe, the Dutch diamond magnate Rudi Vries and the man accompanying Alex's foster father, the market magician, Dieter Sprintz. All three in the top twenty of Forbes Rich List. Steve had met Paul Roscoe briefly, who was a business partner of Tony's, at a party before the Fall of the SHIELD. He stood up, not caring that he looked worn and tired. It was time to network and rebuild as the world needed heroes, real heroes, not hype or the caricature that Captain America had always been.


	12. Chapter 12

Alex was getting assessed by the neurologist, Dr Schumann, when Sabina texted Edward with her flight details and the warning that Liz was accompanying her. The journalist knew his ex-wife would raise merry hell about Alex, now that everything was out in the open. He had tried to tell her, but Liz had put the phone down as soon as he said hello, rather than have a civilised conversation at his four attempts to call in the first few weeks Alex had been at the clinic. The slow progress, still evident amnesia and his daughter's heartbreak over Alex's condition had prevented him from any more overtures to his ex-wife.

He returned to the examination room and it was evident his momentary lapse in being dad, meant he had missed Alex refusing the doctor's suggestions and the neurologist was not amused with his patient's refusal to go for an CT scan or any hospital diagnosis procedures beyond a basic medical. Edward just smiled at Alex, as it was his decision to make after all. He whispered to his son, "Promise me, you'll see a doctor right away you having any memory problems, seizures or migraines?"

Alex tersely nodded and then got dressed in the clothes his father had brought, "As I'm fit and healthy, I might as well take the bullet for you and meet Sab and Liz at the airport. While you go do your interviews, considering the sooner you file, the more you'll get for the scoop."

"Liz will assume I'm avoiding her."

"No, Dad. She needs to deal with her grief and shock. Its the least I can do, as you've been there for me. I promised I will not play matchmaker as you've both moved on." Alex knew Edward, but he wanted to act as mediator, to get Liz to forgive herself first, then she might start to rebuild some form of detente with her family.

...

It had been a tense flight, as mother and daughter made polite conversation but avoided the real reason both of them were flying to Geneva. Liz Pleasure spent most of the journey going back over her decision to move on all those years ago, while Edward and Sabina had never given up hope. She had hardened after the most miserable Christmas without their difficult, but much loved but never legally adopted son, but everything changed for the worse after Alex's nineteenth birthday. The toll of six months of silence and police's prediction her foster son was dead, she had lost hope and grieved. Liz had known Alex was closer to Edward, confiding in him all the horrifying secrets, which her husband did not pass on until after Alex had disappeared. The fact was her then husband may have been protecting her, but at the time it felt like plain old lying. That had been the start of their break up, not the legal proceedings. She had lost trust in her partner. Life was stranger than fiction, HYDRA had tortured Alex, frozen him like a lab experiment, assured the serum would keep him viable. Even Alex had told Sabina he had technically been a corpse, more Frankenstein's monster crossed with a zombie fish finger. The fact was he'd taken over a year and a half to recover. Liz had not been informed, that was her own fault. In the last two weeks, counselling had given her perspective, as she's been trying and failing to protect herself from emotional fallout from losing her child. The costume designer had left a very sparse message for her fiancée, stating a family emergency. How was she meant to explain this to a sane rational dentist?

The pair were met by airport security and given the VIP transfer through passport control and customs. There in the arrivals hall, stood next to two Swiss Soldiers, was Alex with wild unkempt long hair and several days of stubble. Evil science experiments meant he looked no older, Sabina had warned her the hard fact Alex now was not their Alex.

Seeing Liz, Alex smiled despite feeling conflicted. Liz now had grey hair, which suited her. She was still effortlessly stylish. Sabina and Liz were both hanging back as if waiting for it all to go pear shaped.

Alex knew he needed to reassure and not push for a reconnection as mother and son as she would think him an imposter, "Maman cherie. Sab will have told you that I haven't been myself; but then again I was not the best son to you before. I was afraid, but now I have to face up to the fact I have a big target on my back. So, can you forgive me?"

Liz looked closely at the smile, the lack of the emotionless mask he'd always worn before, with that earnest expression, only holding back as he expecting to be rebuffed. "There is no need for forgiveness, my prodigal son. You were lost and now you've been found." Liz moved forward and hugged her lost boy. Sabina then joined them. This was a new beginning, Liz knew their family would never be what it was, but now it was time to build a new dynamic from the shattered ruins. She then whispered "Now, tell me who bought you these awful clothes?"

Alex laughed as style was not important as long as the clothes were comfortable, "Jamie, I think. He's colour blind and normally has someone shop for him."

"So, I take it you and your security have a car waiting?" Liz looked at the two waiting minders, not letting go of Alex.

"Yeah."

"Lets go shopping. And pretty please, let me cut your hair?"

…..

The ex-Avengers and their allies were transferred to a Swiss Chalet owned by Dieter Sprintz. The house was as palatial as a five star hotel with twenty bedrooms, a large staff in their own quarters and 24/7 security detail, as well as perimeter guards from the Swiss Army. Steve would have felt entrapped, except Alex had taken Wanda shopping with his family. He cornered Clint by the Italian Sunken Garden. "I know the basics about Alex from Bucky, but what's your assessment?"

Clint knew he was airing past dirty laundry, as all his work for his former employer was tainted, "Alex Rider was famous in the spy community over decade ago. He was an amazing talented operative, working for British, Australian, Indian and CIA black ops in 2001 and 2002. I crossed paths with Alex in 2005, SHIELD were trying to head hunt MI6's wunderkind after he graduated high school and I was on the covert team keeping an eye on the kid. He showed his worth to me when he clocked me the first night I was on duty. I got the impression then he knew who I was and why I was there. A week later he'd got a place at college back in London. I guess he didn't like Pearce's offer. Fury let me read the kid's full, un-redacted operations file when I got back to New York. Ten missions in sixteen months and he was burnt out at fifteen after destroying SCORPIA, then he was left to recover with the Pleasures. After his abduction, the rumour was the British were offering him work as an analyst after grad school. Not that he got to go to any classes." Clint sat and looked at the perfect garden and sighed. "He'll follow you to the ends of the earth, because its that or fall foul of Ross or someone just like Pearce. Did Bucky tell you that Alex had been von Strucker's pet lab subject in Serbia? He and Wanda are practically kin that way."

Hawkeye needed to go home and take stock as he felt guilty by association for both kids. Both he and Steve were overdue a team meeting, to talk things over with Natasha, for her wonderful brutal outlook at life choices. She would tell Steve to take the kid under his wing, as the short and simple truth was they needed a new team up and running yesterday. Her viewpoint, he could predict would be that one more intelligent, resourceful and enhanced spook with a proven track record was too good an opportunity to throw away.

…

Dimitri Viktorovich Ivanov was FSB, but had concentrated his career to work in Border Security based in Moscow. At twenty nine, he was currently working the Immigration and Customs for the International Division at Domodedovo Airport. He was Liaison between Federal Police dealing with Currency, Banned Items or Drug Concealments and Counterfeit Documents. Having read his emails from James, Dieter and Edward Pleasure, he was not surprised by the summons to visit Division One at the Lubiyanka.

He was shown up to the office of the Director for Internal Intelligence, General Andrei Alexandrov, who had been a friend of his father's. "Good Morning, Dima. Its been fourteen years since we spoke. I'm afraid international politics means officially we cannot support you friend, Alexander Rider. Unofficially, we wish for you to offer him our thanks and assurance that he is always welcome here."

Dimitri remained silent, unsure how to respond to this man who had culled HYDRA from within the FSB ranks and was a man both feared and respected for his ruthlessness and tenacity.

"You are a man of few words like your father. You are also loyal to your friends. So like Viktor. Your few friends are rich, powerful and influential. You and they learned at an early age that you have ruthless enemies. Despite your youth, you are a driven workaholic with no social life. Take two weeks leave. Visit Switzerland, maybe Sokovia with Alexander and his new friends. If you cross paths with Miss Romanova send her my regards as well. We have been hunting the same prey after all. I look forward to us having a chat about your career goals when you get back."

…..

After three glorious days, Dieter was arranging a party as Alex friends were all invited. Steve had gone to Zurich, deep in diplomatic talks with the Swiss government, also the Sokovian and Wakandan UN representatives.

Edward had been busy talking to the guys and filing stories, currently he was finishing a piece on the deal for Clint and Scott, hammered out by Paul Roscoe's lawyers. In the back of his mind he pondered Dieter's offer of his home here to the outlawed Avenger's indefinitely, but were still are on Ross's radar. Alex had already mentioned Wanda wanted to go back to Sokovia for a vacation and that he wanted to go with her.

"I'm sure we all could do with a vacation," Edward was avoiding asking what Alex was planning, but could bet a years earnings it would be following Steve, and their quest to be heroes, without a care that Stark and Ross had painted them as villains.


	13. Chapter 13

The city of Novi Grad had been reborn from the crater filled with rubble, which had been abandoned for a new site constructed five kilometres south on the River Varna. The bus from Zurich to Novi Grad took just over 24 hours, Wanda had copies of Sabina's books on a tablet to keep boredom at bay. Alex had switched off his phone and pondered the scenery and almost regretted his decision to leave the security of Dieter's home behind and the fact he was putting distance between himself, his friends and his family. He was aware that Edward had already accepted he had moved on, would play the hero and join the independent and government free version of the Avengers, backed by Swiss based Red Cross neutrality, Wakandan technology and Dieter Sprintz's deep pockets. That decision was not a certainty as he had yet to be offered a place. Wanda has yet to commit to rejoining and he was yet to be vetted by the mysterious Natasha Romanov, though Steve already thought of him as entirely trustworthy cause Bucky and Clint had vouched for him.

He had talked to Steve about Bucky, really talked. Confessing his strong feelings for the man who had saved him, more than comrades or brothers. Telling the man's best friend about his unrequited feelings and that Bucky had let him down gently. It was not his place to discuss James' feelings about loving his best friend; but he did offer encouragement. Bucky had lost as much as Steve. It had been awkward telling a guy brought up a strict catholic that pansexuality seemed to be the norm for enhanced individuals as his grandfather, father, uncle and he himself were not straight. My dad had male and female lovers, Alex had loved Sabina, He did, no had loved James, the unrequited bit no longer like a knife in the gut. He was fine with that. He had moved on. Flirting with Dimitry and Jamie had helped. Sabina had seduced him, an act of closure for her and healing for him. They had loved, but never acted in those feelings as teenagers when faced with the family situation as sudden siblings had put a dampener on passion. Two years of pussyfooting around had ended when she had left for college, seven months before he returned to London.

As night fell, the bored passenger then skimmed through the Weird Planet Guide to Novi Grad. Not that he was a tourist, Wanda knew the real reason he was travelling to Sokovia, not just to be a good friend; but to bring closure to one aspect of his past with MI6 that he cared to clear the air over. At eighteen, he had been more than a friend, but not quite a boyfriend, to Ben Daniels. Each could rely on each other with a basic level of trust through shared experience. The fact was as spies they could not, would not open up to a stranger. His one decent attempt at a relationship had never had a chance to develop into something deeper, as the pair had been falling in love, at least Alex had been. His BFF thought it was ever so romantic. He liked Wanda a lot, not romantically, the fact they were so similar. He had lost everything so had she.

They were travelling like most people their age, on a 60€ bus ticket with backpacks in the hold. The idea was for a few days for Wanda to reconnect with her home and visit Pietro's grave. The pair were not really trying to keep a low profile, as both were using their real documents, his a Swiss passport had been issued last Christmas after his father's request for asylum on medical grounds had been granted and a new full resident visa for Sokovia. Wanda had a brand new Sokovian Passport with resident's status for Switzerland. She had formerly rescinded her US passport and had vowed never to set foot on US soil again.

…

The bus slowed as it approached the new Plaza the Republic, the debarkation point. There waiting were a crowd, a TV news crew and the President of the Sokovia and his wife: Dr. Graf, formerly imprisoned Professor of Ethics and the even more famous poet, Zuzana Bol. Wanda swore under her breath, as she quickly rummaged through her bag to put on some make-up and look presentable for her adoring public.

Alex pulled a dark red pashmina out of his bag and handed it to his friend as the splash of colour would accent her plain dark travelling ensemble. An item his mother had insisted he pack, as it could be used for many practical uses when travelling.

The pair exited to be greeted with flowers and a short interview, as their prodigal daughter, mistreated by the evil Stark, returned home.

….

It had been two years since Ben Daniels had given up his career in spying; to go back to the army. Here he was, knee deep in mud, providing logistics for a new Hydroelectric power station in Sokovia. He was looking forward to two days leave, he had chosen not to go back to Germany, but soak up the local culture, explore the nightlife, go on a few dates and try to be just another aid worker in a country overflowing with them. The bar near the Presidential compound was packed with mostly impossibly young and optimistic students, gap year travellers and the odd journalist. He felt old in his mid thirties. He stood by the bar and was about to order the local beer, when a glass of whiskey was put in front of him.

He looked into the smiling face of Cub, who then quipped "Get yer coat, Fox; you've pulled."

"I'm not that cheap, Alex. So where are you taking me for dinner?"

"For the Best Paprikash in town."

...

Ben grunted in pain after a sharp elbow in his ribs woke him.

"Your phone's ringing, Lucky you it's the Bank."

The ex-MI6 agent sat up and took the call. Whatever they wanted, they could f-off for all he cared. "Daniels" was barked out like he was addressing a subordinate.

Ben, put the phone on speaker, and without comment dutifully listened to the well rounded argument as Mrs Jones spoke of need to know and that he was the only viable asset in place and could he track down and observe Alex Rider and that his absence from duty had already been cleared with HQ.

At this point, Alex, who had been silent, laughed and Ben to handed over his phone to the person of interest MI6 were desperate to talk to.

With full recall of his memories., Alex knew that Tulip had bent over backwards to get him a uni place and promise of a boring desk job to keep SHIELD off his back. Guilt on her part he was sure. "Good morning, Tulip. It's been a while. Sorry that I haven't been in touch, but I kind of forgot about all you guys."

"Alex, its so good to hear from you. I wish to apologise for the actions of Thaddeus Ross. The Prime Minister has lodged a full complaint stating you should have been left in hospital in Switzerland."

Alex smiled at that blatant bit of political manoeuvring, as he was damn sure MI6 would have been planning on getting him back on board to be their asset again and only protested because Ross stole their property He was in no mood to banter pleasantries and half truths "What do you want, Tulip? Fox has already found me and we're in my room at the Presidential Compound and yes we have picked up where we left off for old times sake. Not quite the honey trap scenario you were anticipating as we jumped into the sack too soon." He was looked at his lover who was trying not to laugh at his blatant cheek.

Tulip coughed and continued "Just an understanding between friends so to speak, would you be willing to undertake freelance work for excellent remuneration?"

Alex ponders this, not outright rejecting any work, but he would never lt himself be blackmailed or tricked into dangerous situations again, but Tulip Jones was a well placed ally, all things considered. "Sure, but only if its suits my purpose and doesn't conflict with my friends, family and their aims and goals. My friends include Wanda, Bucky and Steve." Like prostitution you never left spying behind. Did he trust Tulip, he'll no. He sure did not need any one else out for his blood. A deal with the devil he knew. "I will be fully upfront with Natasha Romanov, probably quite soon, because she is family. First of order of business. How bad was Hydra for you. Who betrayed me and did you get him?"

"Our section was in charge of clearing house across SIS. The HYDRA mole was Richardson in Archives. Serving four life sentences for conspiracy to murder, murder, kidnapping and treason. He will never get out of solitary, for his own protection. It was quite the sensationalist trial. Funny thing is the crime families, the died in the wool criminal types, they consider themselves patriots, fond of the queen and country. The Stykers Brothers have a considerable incentive for our traitors cock and balls, though a straight forward knifing will get you a decent payoff as well."

It took a moment but Alex remembered back to his beginnings as a spy, chasing Ian's car to a scrap yard, Stryker Brothers Scrap and Recycling Yard in Southwark. Patriots indeed.


	14. Chapter 14

Tony Stark has spent the last seventeen days away from Stark Tower, shuttling between the Avengers facility in upstate New York and Washington DC. No longer, the hero but playing second string to politicians and statesmen as they argued and procrastinated achieving nothing. Waiting for him in the penthouse was his ex girlfriend and quite possibly ex friend now. He pondered the point on which Steve Rogers had stood firm. In the elevator, the silence filled by own doubts. Trust in yourself, in your own decisions, not policy makers out for their own ends.

Pepper Potts made her version of a smokin hot dirty martini, with four dashes of chipotle Tabasco and chilli stuffed olives. She handed Tony a regular dry martini with lemon peel not olives. "I need to clear the air. I want to scream and shout, but you need a friend now more than ever. We work well together, even when you're a prize jerk. Stark Industries is stronger, more diverse and more profitable with your vision and delegating day to day details and admin to others. I know you don't trust easily, but you don't let people in either." She sat next to her ex and held his hand. "you lost your sounding board after Sokovia. I miss Bruce because he got you in ways I didn't. That suit, your insecurities and those accords mean there is no room for us. In the last four weeks you have ignored me as a friend and as your co worker. I have needs too, Tony. Hurt, alone and in need of a friend, I have spent time with Rhodey. Your priorities are way off. Natasha and even the fugitives have made peace with your best friend."

Tony drank his martini down in one and watched as Pepper went to pour him a top up. "I've visited my guy five times. It's just." Tony pauses to accept his new drink. " feel like a failure, Pep. I picked this fight. We were played and my hope for a secure world is in tatters. Big picture. It's toast. Rhodey is positive. He knows with my tech, it's not the end of War Machine, but the price was too high. The whole game was to bring me down. It worked oh so well. Would you have not told me about Barnes murdering my parents, my mom."

She knew she was pushing all Tony's buttons, but she had to play hardball. "I can understand why Steve did not disclose what he knew. He was not beholden to you or the memory of your father, but a man as close as a brother. They grew up together, fought together. He carried a massive burden of guilt accepting his friend died." She did not voice her own views that Bucky Barnes was mentally incompetent... brainwashed. Any decent lawyer would prove him innocent. She had have discussed this with Stark Industries Attorneys. "Would I have kept silent? It's a minefield. To protect you, possibly. You don't need that hurt. You have grieved, made your peace and moved on. Your anger was understandable but the lengths you took it to, to try and kill Steve and Bucky. That was not the man I loved. Not the man your mother raised you to be." She drank her own martini.

Wanted to divert away from Tony's issues. "I have some hot gossip, Roscoe-Drevin are moving their headquarters to Geneva. Leaving only the bare bones here on the states. Half of Silicon Valley is rumoured to be following suit. I have scoped moving our energy division abroad as well. Ross is a dangerous man, if he runs for president our headquarters may remain here, but our manufacturing will not be. I have moved mountains to maintain our partnership with the Roscoe-Drevin Aerospace and Communications. We need their network to survive. Without them our phones are just pretty boxes." During dinner yesterday Paul has even suggested a nice cleaning job on Ross. Wouldn't it make all our lives better. With Paul moving, they would remain friends and only occasional lovers. He was happy with an open relationship, understanding life as a CEO of a multinational conglomerate was not conducive to normal relationships. She was offering a life line Tony, hopefully he would actually cease his obsession with being the hero now.

...

Natasha Romanov had observed Alex Rider before, through the sight of a sniper rifle. She had never questioned her handlers then, on her first foreign assignment. In hindsight those orders came direct from Hydra. She had not questioned MI6 using a child because she had started operations at the same age. She had not been punished, despite not taking a head shot. The place of the assassination was a statement to Blunt and Jones, hence the 22 rifle and normal bullet, not poison coated or lead tipped fragmentation dumdum. This man mimicked Pietro's close body language with his twin, yet Alex had met Wanda in prison. Had been kidnapped before the twins were orphaned. The facts stated he was psychically enhanced or attuned to Wanda. They would be a phenomenal team together in the field now. He would temper their greenest member with years of ingrained spy craft.

She also knew his lover from her years of wet work as well; when undercover oblivious to the danger as he had flirted with her seven years ago in Cambodia, but had made no attempt at seduction. Not a surprise when Ben Daniels was not interested in women, his team were gently joking about his new twink. Ignoring the lewd comments, Alex then picked up a box of metal plates weighting 40 kg like it weighted a mere 5kg and nimbly leapt to the opposite side of the Vha river across the installed pillars and the volunteer construction crew there. With the correct parts, the Stanchion connections were in place well ahead of the steelwork due to arrive in the next half hour.

The accident happened just after the crowds of spectators arrived and TV crew set up to see the last of the prefab plates making up new bridge connecting the gorge just south of Novi Grad be lifted into place. Two years the city had been split by a forty kilometres detour and surviving on one pedestrian bridge. The rebuilding of the medieval stone bridge in the town centre would take another two years.

On the other side of the gorge, a school bus full of children was on the top of the steep descent to the bridge assigned the task of being the first Vehicle to cross, when it's brakes failed, and there was nothing to stop it careering into the river, apart from the group of volunteer workers. All except one scattered to save themselves. With arms outstretched Alex stood and took the impact his feet pushed back to the edge of the divide, the bus and its passengers saved with inches to spare. The hero dropped to the ground exhausted, two deep imprints from his gloved hands on the Metalwork.

Natasha was by the side of the only casualty faster than anyone, checking him for crush injuries, friction burns and abrasions effortlessly cutting off gloves and boots with a ceramic knife from her wrist shealth.

Through heavy pants, as he gasped for air, a soft whisker in Russian stated, "l'm fine; just exhausted, Natasha. I doubt I can walk away anytime soon. Shit, that was close."

She had seen with her own eyes this young man was a strong as the Winter Soldier and Steve Rogers. With Dr Banner gone and their exile from Stark, the Wakandan's knew of their own brand of super serum. Ross in his bid for control had lost three super soldiers and had backed Tony's ideal of mechanical supremacy, not realising Stark would never give ideological control to anyone beyond Rhodey. Taking no nonsense she ordered "flex your fingers and toes, then rotate your wrists and ankles."

The medical team arrived and Alex was lifted onto a stretcher and taken to the medical tent. Natasha knew the drill from working with Steve, the doctor was less than impressed to be told drugs were useless. A helicopter had been called in by the British Army and would airlift the casualty to the hospital five kilometres away by air. The crane lifted the last plate into position after the site was cleared. The news tonight on Sokovian TV was the bridge opening and their own Avenger in attendance to save fifteen lives.

Alex let Wanda caress his hands and feet, checking for injuries. He was fine. Nothing a large meal and a good nights sleep wouldn't put right. He had heard about Steve's abilities from Sam and Clint. His own were evolving. Possibly due to arrested puberty because of cryofreeze or Banner's unproven theory about an exponential effect of the serum's potency dependant on stress response. The room silent, but he heard the litany of her worries and fears in his head. She suddenly stepped back, having sensed the arrival of Ben. The finishing of the bridge meant he was being redeployed. Their affair was over. Alex knew he did not have the luxury of a personal life. He now had to break that to a guy who wanted him to return to London, to a life that was no longer possible. The door had shut firmly on the possibility of pretending to be normal.


End file.
